My grandmother used to tell me that when I would stay at her house for the summer, I often woke up in the middle of the night…screaming. I would yearn for my mother in terror, tears pouring, confused and alone. It got so bad at times, that she would have to pretend to be my mom just so I could go back to sleep and to avoid waking up the whole house. Imagine, I was a small child, but not too small not to have experienced true fear. I have issues with my parents separating, and don’t understand why my mom would move out and I would wake up, in a dark room, in my grandparent’s house from a terrifying nightmare, and all I wanted was my mom. In fact, I was convinced that the only thing that could make it better was my mom.
Now imagine being exposed to a drug addicted father. Imagine being 4, 5, and 6 years old and having a heroin addicted, alcoholic father. You’re constantly moving from this house to the next, your belongings turn up missing, your mom and dad often fight when he’s around. And when he’s not around, where is he? You are always told “no” when you want something from the store because your mommy and daddy don’t have the money, and you see your cousins getting everything they want. You change schools. Then, you change schools again. Your daddy disappears for 30 and 60 days. When he is home, he is your best friend one minute, and a complete monster the next. You often wake up and go downstairs to see your daddy passed out on the couch, or the floor…empty fifths of Southern Comfort near by. Then your daddy leaves.
He returns a “new man” only to change back to the same old bi-polaresque daddy you once knew. Then it all happens again. You are shuffled from house to house, either with your parents or without. With your brother or without. You are so confused, lost and alone. You are getting damaged.
Imagine then waking up in the middle of the night, almost every night, screaming from a nightmare. Screaming for your mommy. You are in a dark room, maybe in your grandparents house in another state, maybe at your cousin’s house…but not with your mom and dad.
This is what my son went through.
This is what I put my son through.
Last night, my son and I were asleep. He sleeps in a loft bed above my humble futon bed. I reach up and kiss him in it every night. So last night I heard him scream. He called for me. “DADDY!?!?!” The first cry was muffled in my ear, like a faint echoing request. But the second rung clear as a bell…”DADDY!?!?!?!” It was a fearful cry for help. It must’ve been the same type of cry he has always had. Only before, I wasn’t around to hear it. Last night, I was. I jumped up, I looked in his bed, and he was sitting there, straight up, legs crossed, confused and scared.
“What’s wrong, honey? Did you have a bad dream?”
“Yeah, Daddy…I did” He choked back tears.
“Do you want to come down in my bed and sleep with me?”
“Yes please”
He reached his arms out to me, much like he did when he was smaller and wanted to be picked up. I scooped him up, and he squeezed me tight, I grabbed his pillow, and tucked him in right next to me. He woke up this morning with a smile on his face. He touched my face, and we laughed. I made him a waffle with half a fun sized Butterfinger crushed up on top. He devoured it.
My G-d is big.