Thank You For Visiting

“I can’t sleep,” the soft voice of the tiny human standing beside my bed whispered. 

The sound was extremely creepy but I immediately recognized the voice, and that knowledge willed me to not freak out like my instincts wanted me to. I can’t react, my fear of scaring him overriding my fear of being woken up out of my peaceful sleep that it’s taken 3 months to achieve. 

I lie still, my back facing him. Maybe if I pretend to be undisturbed, he will go back into his room and self-soothe himself. I cannot deal with this tonight. I do not want to deal with this tonight. But of course, I have to, and it only takes a swift beat for him to make his point known again.

“I can’t sleep,” he whispers again but this time directly into my left ear.

A chill shoots up my spine and my eyes fly open. Mentally coaching myself to be calm, be quiet, and to be soft as I slowly roll onto my back. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath before opening them again and staring up at the popcorn ceiling of my bedroom, needing the pause between that step and the next to prepare myself for what I am about to see. 

I take another deep breath and exhale. Slowly turning my head to the left to face my baby boy. I cannot help the pool of tears that swell at the sight of him. But I don’t let them fall. 

His curly afro forms a halo around his face and branches out into curly strands in all directions but down and his tiny four-year old frame is engulfed in the oversized Aaliyah tour t-shirt that I got from Walmart as a teenager, the black color of the fabric complimenting his caramel skin tone. He begged me to sleep in that shirt that night, saying he wanted the “pretty girl” on his chest to keep him company at night. The thought of that moment makes me smile despite the tears. I fight the urge to finger one of his branching curls, reminding myself that I can’t touch him. He has a soft glow about him that takes my breath away. My beautiful baby boy.

I look into his hazel eyes, wide and bright despite the darkness of the room, and feel my heart break all over again but I don’t want him to know it. I don’t want him to see me so upset, even though I’m sure he can more than likely feel it. 

“You can sleep with me baby,” I whisper. 

He starts to climb onto my bed, struggling with the height of it compared to his short stature. I hold my hand a few inches from his back, my motherly instinct to support him kicking in, even though I know I cannot touch him. My hand instantly becomes icy cold from the proximity, but I don’t move it until he is on the bed and climbing over my legs to lay in the empty spot beside me. He’s so lightweight I wouldn’t know he was in the bed if I weren’t looking right at him. 

I roll onto my right side and rest my head on my arm as I watch him climb under the covers and get himself all tucked in, laying on his left side with his head resting on his arm and we stare at each other. 

God, I’ve missed this. 

“Mommy?” His voice is sweet, yet the distance is unmistakable despite us being two feet away from each other. 

His curls fall into his face, and I want to smooth them back so badly, but I restrain myself and watch as he does it himself. 

“You can’t touch him, you can’t touch him, you can’t touch him,” I repeat to myself over and over again. “You remember what happened the last time you touched him. You can’t touch him.”

I can’t hold the tears in any longer and close my eyes, allowing the emotional dam to break into pieces. The tears cascade down my cheek in a silent procession of grief. And that’s when I feel it. My son reaching out a tiny hand ever so gently, caressing my cheek with his thumb in soothing circular motions the same way I used to soothe him when he cried. Somehow, the sentiment brings relief yet deepens the chasm of grief in my soul at the same time. But I embrace it all because it is coming from my baby boy. 

He continues on and his touch creates an icy hot feeling on my cheek, the sensation aiding in grounding me.

I swallow the lump in my throat and let out a shaky breath. 

“Yes baby?” I finally open my eyes again and stare into his beautiful hazel eyes. 

“You’re crying,” he says sadly. I softly nod my head. “Are you sad?” 

“Yes,” I respond honestly. “But they are also happy tears. Remember when we talked about happy tears a long time ago?” 

He pauses, taking a few seconds to think about the memory, before resuming the thumb movements. 

“Yes. It’s when you’re so full of joy your body celebrates by giving you water.” 

I giggle at his interpretation and he smiles. That’s not exactly what I said but it’s good enough. 

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Mommy is so happy to see you and be with you, but I am sad because I won’t always get to,” he nods his head as if understanding what I mean.

I have to fight the urge to caress his cheek. Fuck, this is so hard. 

“I’m happy to see you and be with you too, mommy. Daddy was a little nervous but he will come next time because he misses you.” 

And that’s where I lose it. The weight of my baby boy’s message from his father shatters my heart, causing an indescribable pressure in my chest. I cannot hold the sob that escapes my lips. I cannot hold back the gush of tears that I didn’t even know I had the capacity to produce from flooding across my face. I cannot control the violent quaking of my body. 

Just as I could not save my son and husband three months ago.  

“I-I-I… I’m... so… sorry,” I sob. 

My son places his forehead against mine and it burns in the best way. 

“It’s okay mommy, we got you,” he says. “I love you mommy.” 

I take a deep breath and despite what I have learned in the last three months, I cup my baby boy’s cheek. For a few seconds, the palm of my hand is overcome with the burning sensation of ice and I can feel the softness of his curls wrapping around my fingers. 

And then, the sensation slowly dulls before fading away altogether, my forehead and cheek reducing to a light throbbing where my son’s touch previously ignited my flesh. The absence of his curls rested against my fingers leaving them yearning and exposed. My hand drops onto the empty space of my mattress beside me. From the deepest depths of my soul, I violently weep. 

“I love you more,” I whimper to the empty space beside me. “I love you both, so much more.”