I used to be a good sleeper. In fact, I might go so far as calling myself a champion of sleep back in my younger days. Days when the worries and stresses of the world had yet to breach the walls of my reality. But just as you start to think your walls are impenetrable, life has a way of breaking in. And so my own personal reconstruction began to take place when I found myself pregnant with Londyn. It was during this period of change that we were met with a barrage of advice. All the tips and tricks, developed and finely honed by others before us, were shared with a passion and zeal that was almost too much to absorb. However, out of all the unsolicited tips sent our way, one in particular clearly stood out among the rest and seemed to be shared by everyone. “Get your sleep” they said. You’ll forget what a normal nights rest is like.
And of all the advice we received, that one in particular was spot on. From the moment she made her debut on Earth, Londyn set the stage. Day was night, night was day and that was that. At all of 5 lbs 11 ozs she confidently and loudly called the shots and, in an instant, our lives, and sleep patterns, were never the same.
I never thought I would miss those nights. Those long, grueling, challenging beyond belief nights. Some often full of fear, a colicky baby whose first 6 months found her developing RSV along with a man size cough prompting multiple trips to the ER to make sure she could breathe. Many nights that found me at 3 am nestled into her tiny frame against the back of the couch, a technique developed out of desperation but one that, mostly, seemed to help her get some sleep. It was parenting boot camp 101. And, despite it all, I would give anything to do it again.
As the years go on these same well-meaning advisors would also tell us it gets easier as they get older. A tip we now recognize as a myth of course but a necessary evil and survival mechanism for the younger parenting crowd to believe. For any of those parents reading this now, don’t despair. Believe it or not, somewhere along the way that becomes ok. Life shifts from when will their needs end to a fear of the day they no longer need you.
And so it was I found myself once again facing some sleepless nights when Covid struck our family in December of 2020. Curiously, however, it was three positive tests we received and not four. Upon discovering this news Londyn, then a freshman in college but home for the holidays, immediately holed herself away in her room determined to keep the virus at bay. As the boys and I finally started to get over some of the worst symptoms, I was sure she had miraculously dodged a bullet. Until day nine of our illness as she casually mentioned in passing “Mom, everything smells like trash”. Still new to the effects of Covid, and despite the fact loss of taste and smell was starting to be established as a well known symptom, it took us a few hours to understand the significance of this statement. Her smell receptors were slowly numbing and she, in fact and despite her best efforts , had contracted the virus.
Those next few days were some of the longest and scariest in memory. Although each one of us had exhibited very different symptoms of the virus, it was Londyn’s onset of migraines that had me scared beyond measure. Having heard all the data circulating about possible blood clots and strokes I was terrified. And so it was, I found myself sleeping at the foot of Londyn's bed one particularly bad night, my child who was very much no longer a helpless infant but a budding young adult, and yet feeling the need to be on call within arms length just in case. Little did I know, this would be the final time I would pull an all nighter with my daughter.
These moments. These seemingly insignificant points in time can turn out to be seared into our brains when, one day, you discover they were a last. Moments impossible to recognize until time and fate reveal them is something we all have in common. The last time you played on the streets with your friends. The last time you hold your child before they become too big to carry. The last phone call or text shared with a loved one. The last hug or kiss. Although this was far from being my last sleepless night, it now carries a special significance. Unknowingly, this would be the last time during her life that I would see the night through caring for my baby. Determined that, by directing my very will power, I could help guide her back to full health. She of course did get better. It took several weeks for her taste and smell to recover although, to have her tell it, it was never fully the same again.
I think about that moment often these days. Nights when I wake up unable to sleep, my thoughts immediately reach back in time to her. Sleep becomes both a welcome escape and an elusive frustration when grief takes its hold on one’s life. And more often than not it’s memories like these that keep me awake, final moments we unknowingly shared and the heart-wrenching desire to find my way back to them. But time is ever the antagonist in this story of ours, ever marching forward with no regard for those of us trying to turn back the clock. And so, as I find a way to pass the hours on yet another sleepless night, I’m left with only my memories to get me through. Memories of all the lasts, of what could have been and what will be, without her beautiful light to guide the way. But knowing she will forever be my companion and muse as I continue to tackle my inevitable sleepless nights.
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