There Are No Monsters, I Told You

There are no monsters, I promised, but it didn’t keep you from running into our bed every night. I would wake up, next to you, with no space between us.

How does time work. Does it fold and bend and turn, does it spiral and disappear, does it skip and jump ahead. Can I find you in some space between one moment and the next? Between where you used to be, and where you are now?

If I just knew where to find you, I would find a way to reach you, and scoop you up in my arms like I always did. And you would bury your face in my neck like you always did. And together, we would turn and go back home.

I can still save you, I think. I can figure this out. I just have to figure it out.

But you remain gone, and your room is empty. Your bed with the gray blanket with rockets and your pillows with the blue stars. Are you in the space above me, with the twinkling stars and the glowy moon? I will climb to those stars, I will find you, I just need to figure it out.

He’s gone, he’s gone, he’s really gone, my mind says, but my heart is deaf to the warning, already climbing the stars, climbing straight to the moon, searching, searching, searching. Begging. Just tell me where you are and I will come save you.

I’m your mama, I can save you. I can save you. My love is so big, so much, I can save you. But I couldn’t, and I still can’t, and I am just left, instead, with the climbing.

I only remember dreaming of you once since you left. Please don’t come to me in any more dreams. I have to wake up and I have to lose you all over again. Please, please, come to me here when I am awake. Come back to me but this time be real, and let losing you be the dream.

My mind flutters all morning and comes to rest on you. Henry, Henry, I say, my lips still wanting to say your name. My ears still wanting to hear it.

Henry.

There are no monsters, I told you. Because there didn’t used to be.