The Terror

It comes at night, most nights now, yet we're still in the beginning of it so that when it does happen we are surprised and it takes a few minutes for us to realize what's going on with Jacob. But he is at that age where I read night terrors begin. It's usually an hour or so after Jacob has finally fallen asleep that he starts crying. A really horrible cry and he sits up, or tries to crawl away, and just keeps his eyes shut, like he's trying to escape whatever reality he is living at that moment, and if only he knew how to pull himself out it would be ok.

I go to him, wrapping my arms around his slender body in whatever way I can, saying soothing things, humming and rocking. It's all I can do because whatever is happening in his dream world that I'm not privy to is beyond my control. Finally, the shuddering breaths slow, the tears begin to dry, and just when I think it's over, another wave hits.

I don't like that I can't go to this place to protect him, it scares me that I can't take away the fear. I feel like the mom in Poltergeist; Carol Anne's been sucked into the closet and I'm there fighting a hopeless fight to get the door open.

When it appears all is well and calm, I begin the long process out of bed and back into whatever I was doing before the night world surfaced in our bedroom. Gently, I lift the heavy limbs that have wrapped themselves around my body. I remove the hand that found its way into my shirt pocket. One-by-one I untwine the fingers that have been woven into my hair. I place a hand on his chest and slowly slide my right arm out from under the limp body. I take my time raising my left hand, as this is the last thing connecting us and I don't want to create a breeze. Then I begin the controlled roll to the floor and at last I am free.