Night Terrors and Sardines
I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept since the night before he left.
Not that I don’t want to. Believe me - I want to. But I’m not the only one dealing with the raw emotion of the Afghanistan tour. And Liam is not handling it well.
Daytime it’s almost like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Well, other than the fact that he won’t go outside and play with his friends and he gets upset if I’m any further than one room away…
Night is a different story. At night he can’t distract himself from the fact that his daddy is on the other side of the planet and that he is so afraid for him. We tried to shield him from learning of the dangers over there but he plays with children whose parents speak freely of the injuries and deaths and he’s latched onto the negative.
He’s cried himself to sleep every night since his daddy left. He doesn’t think I know. The first night he was so fraught with emotion that his sobs were loud and heartbreaking. That night, he didn’t want me to comfort him and the next day he didn’t want to talk about it. Since that night he’s cried quietly. But when I check on him he’s fallen asleep with the tears still wet on his cheeks.
I’m used to nightmares – he gets those occasionally. They wake him up and he winds up in bed with us.
These night terrors are other animals, altogether.
He howls like the hounds of hell are chasing him. Screaming and sweating, heart beating like it’s trying to escape his body. Yelling at the top of his lungs for Daddy to save him. But Daddy can’t come.
I don’t even think I sit up – my feet hit the floor running, occasionally stubbing my toe on the doorjamb and cursing under my breath, Kate close on my heels.
He calms slowly, but doesn’t really wake up fully. Kate and I doze in his bed with him, jammed in like sweaty sardines, until his breathing becomes slow and regular once more. Somewhere in the pre-dawn hours I take Kate back to her bed.
She’s an angel on these nightly rescue missions. It’s almost as if in these moments she realizes she’s the big sister and I give thanks for the little mercies.
In the morning, he says he doesn’t remember the night before. But the circles under his eyes are getting darker and his emotions are more on edge. I thought speaking to his Daddy might help. But so far things are not getting better.
He starts school tomorrow. I’ve got to remember to tell his teacher about how he’s handling the deployment. Maybe school will be the outlet he needs to calm his mind, get it focused somewhere else. Perhaps he will talk to the guidance counsellor.
The alarm goes off and up we get. What I wouldn’t give for a nap. Day 10.
I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept since the night before he left.
Not that I don’t want to. Believe me - I want to. But I’m not the only one dealing with the raw emotion of the Afghanistan tour. And Liam is not handling it well.
Daytime it’s almost like nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Well, other than the fact that he won’t go outside and play with his friends and he gets upset if I’m any further than one room away…
Night is a different story. At night he can’t distract himself from the fact that his daddy is on the other side of the planet and that he is so afraid for him. We tried to shield him from learning of the dangers over there but he plays with children whose parents speak freely of the injuries and deaths and he’s latched onto the negative.
He’s cried himself to sleep every night since his daddy left. He doesn’t think I know. The first night he was so fraught with emotion that his sobs were loud and heartbreaking. That night, he didn’t want me to comfort him and the next day he didn’t want to talk about it. Since that night he’s cried quietly. But when I check on him he’s fallen asleep with the tears still wet on his cheeks.
I’m used to nightmares – he gets those occasionally. They wake him up and he winds up in bed with us.
These night terrors are other animals, altogether.
He howls like the hounds of hell are chasing him. Screaming and sweating, heart beating like it’s trying to escape his body. Yelling at the top of his lungs for Daddy to save him. But Daddy can’t come.
I don’t even think I sit up – my feet hit the floor running, occasionally stubbing my toe on the doorjamb and cursing under my breath, Kate close on my heels.
He calms slowly, but doesn’t really wake up fully. Kate and I doze in his bed with him, jammed in like sweaty sardines, until his breathing becomes slow and regular once more. Somewhere in the pre-dawn hours I take Kate back to her bed.
She’s an angel on these nightly rescue missions. It’s almost as if in these moments she realizes she’s the big sister and I give thanks for the little mercies.
In the morning, he says he doesn’t remember the night before. But the circles under his eyes are getting darker and his emotions are more on edge. I thought speaking to his Daddy might help. But so far things are not getting better.
He starts school tomorrow. I’ve got to remember to tell his teacher about how he’s handling the deployment. Maybe school will be the outlet he needs to calm his mind, get it focused somewhere else. Perhaps he will talk to the guidance counsellor.
The alarm goes off and up we get. What I wouldn’t give for a nap. Day 10.
1 comment:
Rick Reid also has two children from a previous marriage. Danielle and Holden Reid.
They are familiar with deployment as their step dad recently did a 6month tour of duty to Afghanistan and now have to endure their fathers 6-9 month deployment. But they know that their dad is safe inside the wire.
They miss him and wish him the best and hope to hear from him soon. They add "Miss you and Love you daddy"..
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