Last night, after the kids had gone to bed, we heard footsteps upstairs.
It sounded like Evan was running down the hallway, which is not uncommon for him.
Most nights, he wakes up, sprints down the hall and climbs in bed with us.
He must have gone into my room and figured out that I was still up, because then I heard him running down the stairs.
I met him in the kitchen and as soon as he saw me he jumped into my arms and was holding on for dear life.
He had a bad dream and he was scared.
I held him for a while and then I carried him back up to his bed.
He asked me if I would lay with him because he was still afraid.
So I did, of course.
And as I lay there with my beautiful, precious son, comforting, reassuring and loving him,
my thoughts turned to Nola.
What happens when she has a bad dream?
And the reality of it hit me.
Nothing. Nothing happens when she has a bad dream.
There is no one to run to.
She cannot even get out of her crib to find someone.
There is no one to comfort her.
No one to rub her back.
No one to stroke her hair.
No one to gently kiss her.
No one to softly whisper that she is safe.
No one to tell her she is loved.
No one to stay with her until she falls into a peaceful slumber.
And my heart broke a little more for this child, and for all the children who have no Mommy or Daddy to make bad dreams better.
I simply cannot get her home soon enough.
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