Wyatt had another night terror.
I walked into his room to find him yelling and looking around for something on his pillow. His eyes darting about, as if tormented by unseen things. I asked him for five dollars. Nothing. If he had been awake, that would have brought a quick response. He continued moan-yelling, speaking in an asleep language.
I crawled into bed with him. Rubbed his back. Told him to go to sleep. We laid there for awhile. His eyes darting, refusing to stop their dance. I told him it was okay. Everything was okay.
Growing up, my sister suffered from epilepsy. I have seen things that I wish I could un-see. Prayed desperate prayers to God to take away her seizures. Which he did. But I can’t shake the images of her eyes darting about. Her seizures remind me of my son’s night terrors. Two completely different things, I know. Both haunting.
After awhile the heater kicked on. Wyatt finally calmed down. I left him and got back in bed. My mind awake.
Parenting is hard. I often feel as if I am failing as a dad. And then I have a moment where my son needs me.
I just want to be a good dad. A dad who has an actual relationship with his son. I try to move beyond what was modeled for me. Overcoming the past by active engagement.
The night terrors will one day cease. Wyatt will grow older, mature, and one day move out. I hope that the foundation I am building in our relationship is enough. I don’t want him to realize, as an adult, that he and I have nothing to say. Life is too short and precious for that.