Hold My Hand

Henry is a fairly restless sleeper. Last night was no exception. He often needs a drink sometime in the middle of the night, and a diaper change to follow. I am used to waking up a few times a night, every night, to tend to his needs. I have been doing that the last few days with a gimpy leg. (I still need to write about my leg surgery.) I hobble into his room with my bruised/cut-up leg, trip over some toys, and make sure he is comfortable.

Pain? What pain? I am a mother; I do not believe in pain. Ouch! 

Henry is a ball of fire. He is always playing in the dirt, and now the challenge is to keep him from eating it; it is gross. He is also ready to potty train -- he keeps removing his diaper -- but I want to wait until his stints are taken out in a few weeks to really go full gusto with that. Suffice it to say, Henry is always busy and dirty. He is just a little boy, and he likes to play and explore the world. I gave him a shower yesterday, then he ran straight outside, and recovered himself in dirt.

I am trying to paint a picture of his normal activity, so you will know how sweet and profound the following story is...

Last night, I had a dream. I often dream; I think it is how God speaks to me. This dream was really painful for me. It was about Charles. I dreamt about the day he died. But instead of seeing it how I saw it in real life, I saw what was happening with Charles on the other side.

I was in my home, and Charles was there just like normal. And then a man in a dark suit knocked on the door, and told Charles it was time for him to go. Charles was a little startled, but obedient. He started walking around the house preparing some things; he was getting things in order. And then he turned to me, he told me he had to leave, and he would not be coming back. He told me he was going on a mission -- his special mission -- and hoped I would understand. Then he kept moving around quickly preparing things. There was nothing unusual about the man in a dark suit waiting at the door, he was just a normal missionary-looking type guy. He seemed in a hurry, a little saddened by the circumstances, but also business like; he had things to do, and he needed Charles to come with him. It all felt so normal and natural. There was nothing unearthly about it at all. It felt like any other time Charles had to hurry out the door to perform church business. He told me he loved me, and then he left out the front door with his new dark-suited companion. And I was left alone.

And then I woke-up.

I began to sob, and feel utter sadness; similar to what I felt the night of April 1st last year. My heart hurt so badly. The dream was a meaningful one, and very profound, but it did not lessen the aching in my heart. Sure I know Charles is doing God's work, and that is wonderful -- but I still miss him desperately. Knowing that your loved one is doing something worthy and good -- even something specific and special -- does not take away all the sorrow of being left behind to take care of the worldly knitty-gritty stuff. I am proud of him, but sad for me.

I clung to my pillow in this moment of sorrow and contemplation, and then I heard the pitter-patter of little feet. "Mama! Mama!" Henry cried out, as he walked towards my bed. He never comes in my room, he always waits for me to go to him. And yet, he held his arms up to me, and I scooped him and his blanket onto my bed. He quietly laid next to me, and then he said, "Hold my hand." I reached out for his little 3 year old fingers, and interlocked my hand with his. He squeezed my hand reassuringly, and he began to suck his thumb and drift off to sleep. I smooched his chubby cheeks.

How did he know I needed him in that very moment? 

After all those nights of tending to his needs, and comforting him; he was the one who came to my rescue.

I rested easy the remainder of the night. My sorrow slipped away, and my hand was held tightly by an angel with dirt under his fingernails.