Guest guest Posted September 27, 2010 Report Share Posted September 27, 2010 I woke up at 3:00 in the morning, because my 12-year-old son was awake and playing video games. I asked what was wrong, and I was genuinely concerned. He hadn't been acting like himself lately, and I could tell something had been bothering him. He ended up sitting on my bedroom floor and talking about his pre-teen angst and middle school troubles. I listened, sympathized, reassured him, gave him some gentle suggestions (no demeaning advice), and told him I believed in him. After an hour of talking, he thanked me from the bottom of his heart and said he felt tons better. I told him I would drive him to school (he usually takes the bus early) so he could have an extra hour of sleep. I threw him one of my pillows and one of my blankets, and he immediately fell asleep on my floor, peaceful and relieved. As I was trying to get back to sleep, I was trying to imagine receiving such a thing in the house I grew up in. As I traveled, in my memories, back to each room in the house, I got kind of nauseaus. Any room that had one of my parents in it was dangerous--especially if I was upset about something. And . . . the thought of a parent losing an hour of sleep over me and connecting with me to care for me . . . giving me a safe place when I was struggling with 12-year-old stuff . . . much less lending me a pillow . . . The whole thing really made me realize just how much I missed out on. How much all of us missed out on, really. I'm not even sure how to feel about it. Thanks for letting me share. Blessings, Karla Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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