Member-only story
Night is When The Demons Come Out
How to slay them, or at least keep them well-fed
I sink into the sofa. In my hand, the remote is aimed at the television. Finally, a few minutes of peace before I fall over from exhaustion.
“What do you want to watch?” asks my husband.
I hold up a finger. “Shh!”
The soft sound of weeping drifts down the staircase. I close my eyes and sigh. I don’t have the energy for this.
“Pick whatever,” I say, standing. The leather sofa hasn’t even warmed under my body. “I’ll be back.”
Standing over my daughter’s bed, I strain to find the patience she needs from me.
“What’s going on?” I say.
“Nothing,” she says, sniffing.
I want nothing more than to accept her response and shut the door behind me as I go back downstairs and veg for the short 45 minutes I’m likely to make it before my eyes flutter closed. Instead, I sit down on the bed and rest my hand on her warm back. She shoots up and wraps her arms around me. “I miss Grandpa,” she says. Her sobs are muffled in my lap, but no less heart wrenching.
“Me too, baby,” I say to her. She probably can’t feel the warm tears falling from my eyes onto her hair.
