In the Still of the Night
The Day My Life Changed - A dream, I did not want to dream!
I woke up to the sound of my 10-year boy's gentle voice – "mom, I am scared." With sleepy eyes barely able to focus, I gently asked, "of what, sweetie?" The simple answer was, “I thought a man was standing in the doorway of my room, I am scared, mom – please help me," he continued. As I struggled to become awake, I managed to sit upright and finally focused on my petrified sweet boy. Sweetie, that cannot be real – dad traveled a week ago. He is not due back for another week. As I stood up, I could now entirely focus on him and what I saw shook the core of my being. I was frozen in place as he ran into my embrace – "mom hold me," he says… "sounds in my head." What sounds? I insisted, not knowing what to say.
My little sweet, quiet boy covered his ears with both hands as he shook and shivered while continuing to beg me to help him. At this point, I was alarmed as I sat back on the couch where I had fallen asleep earlier. I carried him – a big boy of 5.6 feet tall. Deciding not to race to the Emergency until I checked in with his pediatrician, I decided to pray, and pray I did as I pleaded with God for help. I felt an urging in my spirit for me to turn on the TV as I searched for any comforting word of God. Kim Clement was on and receiving and giving back to the audience his vision. Clement had a large audience early that morning, and there was a tranquil song in the background as he urged his audience to pray. I resorted to praying softly and purposefully, no longer screaming, and begging God for help with my son. His body loosened, and his grip lessened. I gently prayed and sang for what could have been for several hours.
As the spiritual songs infiltrated the house, his breathing became softer and quieter. The songs were very instrumental in ushering in a peaceful environment in what was now my racing mind. As the song's melody slowed to almost a whisper in one of my darkest nights, my son stopped crying. As sleep overtakes him, he quietly moaned. I could not and did not sleep. I spent the night observing his struggles even as he slept. As I gentle cradled his head on my lap as he slept, thoughts ran through my head about earlier events. I watched as he would cry very softly in his sleep, at times stirring and asking me to help get rid of the noises again and again.
The morning did not come soon enough. I gently eased him off my lab as I hurried to check on other children. They were sound asleep, even my two-year-old daughter. I got my eldest ready for school as I waited for the school bus to pick him up; I called and made an appointment with a doctor in "Children Primary." I was able to see the doctor immediately that day. There begins my journey with a mental disorder 12 years ago.
Before the fateful day, we had to cut our vacation short to return home because my son started acting rather strange. He stopped talking and engaging with the rest of the family as we were involved in previously scheduled activities. He constantly held himself tight and would not allow anyone to get close to him. He finally pleaded and asked to be taken home following a disastrous outing. It was hard to contain the situation. He was miserable and did not want to be there with us. So, we packed up and went home. For a whole week, he remained stand-offish and would not associate with us. He ran to his bedroom the minute he finished his dinner. As I struggled to understand what was going on – I made an appointment with his pediatricians, who was booked solid until the following week. In the interim, his dad traveled for work overseas three days after that fateful vacation.
Lessie
