Songs in the Dark

It had been a rough day. Gwen had woken tired and cranky, and as the day went on it had become a fragile brittleness, leaving her prone to spells of anger and tears. She needed sleep, and I had my own reasons to be short. It all culminated in a game becoming a level of competitive that was more angry then fun, and then tears and rage.

As I put her to bed that night, I held her close and sang the song that I used to sing to her every night as a baby. The dam broke and her tears rushed forward, great heaving sobs that shook her body and drenched her face. She cried because she didn't know why she was so angry, because she was sad for the way she acted and the things she said.

As the tears dried up, she asked me to sing the song one more time. I did, rubbing her back. It was then I noticed how big my hand looked on her back in that moment. She is larger then life sometimes, with her hair all the way down her back, her personality for ages, and a smile that lights up the room. She is gaining freedoms each day, proving her responsibility. Its easy to forget how small she still is.

She slept a long time that night, and the next day was a new day, with easier emotions. We learn the most sometimes, not during the anger, but in the stillness after the storm. Singing our songs into the dark.


  1. Oh sweetie, this is so beautiful. What a wonderful, patient, loving parent you (usually) are! And usually, is all any of us can ever hope for.


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