It’s exactly 1 AM.  Gresham (almost five) has a fever.  The doctor said his sore throat, head ache and stomach ache are from a virus that’s going around town.  It should pass in a couple days.  But without sleep it may take longer.

Gresham is my son.  He’s screwed up in some of the same ways I am. When Gresham is very tired, exhausted like he is tonight, he sleeps in spurts, waking up every hour or so terrified, shaking, sobbing uncontrollably.  I walk into his room and try to calm him down.

“Gresham, it’s Daddy, you’re O.K.  Where are you?”

Seems like a strange way to begin but Gresham isn’t in the room with me.  He’s being chased through the woods by a dinosaur or he’s on the roof of a tall building.  I have to figure out where he is before I can guide him back to his bed.

“Up here,” he said a few minutes ago.

“Up where, Buddy?”

“The tree,” he cried.  “Mommy?  I don’t see…”

“Gresham, listen to Daddy.”

“O.K.”

“Can you climb down the tree?”

His eyes darted around the room wildly, wide open, searching.  “Maybe,” he said, looking right through me.  “He’s there,” he cried and them mumbled some things I couldn’t decipher, pointing at something invisible to me across the room.

“Gresham!” I said sternly, stopping his rant.  He looked at me and stopped whimpering.  “Gresham, listen to me.”

“O.K.”

“I want you to climb down the tree.  Come on down to me.  Don’t be afraid.  I’ll catch you if you fall.  Do you believe me?”

“Yes.”

I kid you not, the boy stands up in his bed and starts pantomiming a climb.  He sniffled the whole way down, pointing a couple times at that invisible something across the room and rambling through his tears.

“Take my hand,” I said when he got to the bottom.  “What do you see here?”

“Flowers.”

“What color are the flowers?”

“Pink.”

I had to chuckle.  “Pink flowers?” He nodded.  “Are you sleepy?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you lie down in the pink flowers?  Here’s your blanket.” I handed it to him.  He took it, smelled it once deeply and laid back on his pillow, in the dark, still sweaty and trembling and with his worried eyes fixed on the enemy across the room.  “What do you see?”

“Thaaaaaat guyeee,” he stammered.

“Don’t worry about him.  I’ll protect you.  There’s nothing to be afraid of here.” I turned toward the emptiness and said, “Go away,” firmly but being careful not to wake the girls.  “Gresham, close your eyes.” He did.  “Take a deep breath with me.” He did.  “Now say what I say.  God is with me, I won’t be afraid.” He did.  His face relaxed.  His body went limp. His trembling stopped.  And I prayed.

For the fourth time tonight.

So far he’s climbed down a tree, cleaned up a messy room, jumped over a hole and asked some kids to stop laughing at him before returning to sleep.  I’m all for a vivid imagination but I’m not sure how much more of this kid’s I can take.

Becky’s home Saturday night.  Then it’s her turn to play make believe at 1 AM.  I’m getting some sleep.

.

Possibly Related Posts