He coped very well with his dad's absence during the day; the stress and uncertainty and anxiety surfaced at night. When Greg would have the opportunity to visit us in Texas, the nightmares would subside. But as soon as he left again, David's nightmares would return with a vengeance.
As a result of night after night of bad dreams, David and I created a comforting routine. He would cry out, I would come to him, rewrap his blanket around him, hug him, kiss him, say a prayer, and, depending on how bad the dream was, sing a song or two. This was repeated nightly, sometimes several times a night. And the most important part was the prayer, at David's insistence.
I will tell you that my heart broke each night when I heard his cries. In the darkness, my little boy was so vulnerable and frightened. I would squeeze myself onto the bed that my two children shared so I could hold a tired, terrified David close. And I would beg and plead that God would protect him from the nightmares. I never knew before the potential depths of my prayers. (There is a lot I didn't know about myself until I became a parent.) I have never wanted so badly to call on the powers of heaven to protect and comfort and heal my little one. (And these were only bad dreams.) I will tell you that there were some tender moments. (Too tender to share.) I will tell you, too, that I was amazed by David's simple faith that his mother's prayer could solve everything.
(I will also tell you that I walked around like a zombie last year. Waking up several times a night! It was like I had a newborn.)
When Greg returned in July, as expected, David's nightmares ceased. For the most part. Even today,though, if either Greg or I is not home at bedtime, he will have a bad dream. So David and I (or David and Greg) use our midnight routine of comfort and, most important, prayer as needed.
Wednesday night I was away at bedtime. So I was not surprised when Greg nudged me, "David's having a nightmare." I rolled out of bed and stumbled into David's room. He wasn't crying anymore. I adjusted his blankets, clasped my hands, and with bowed head, asked, "Should I say a prayer now?"
"No, Mom, I already did it."
He already did it.
I patted his back, and stumbled back to my bed. I told Greg that when I got there, David had already said his own prayer, to which Greg responded, "He's growing up."
Yes, he is.
My heart is full.
