At about 1 a.m. or 2 a.m. he’ll start saying ‘Daddy’.

First it is quietly. Like he’s waking and just figuring out who he is calling.

Then it gets louder and louder.

Then there is a bit of a panic.

Oh, I can hear him. My soul can hear him.

8-year-old me walking through knee deep snow at night thinking I can see things on the side of the road can hear him.

The me that woke up screaming for a week straight when I was 10 because bees were making a hive in my head can hear him.

The me who has moved away from his family who sometimes just wants kin to relate to because I have no idea what I’m fucking doing and don’t think I ever will can hear him.

I know he is pulling my strings.

I know he just wants to get what he wants.

I want to give that to him though.

But I also want him to be healthy. To get his sleep. To be self sufficient.

So, I sit and listen to him scream.

And listen to my heart break.

And know that I am not the first, nor the last.

I take solace in the fact that I will recognize those yells that aren’t just ‘getting my way’ ones.

I will recognize fear and desperation and I will pick him up and I will pull him into my chest and whisper wondrously calming things into his magical head.

But, right now, it sucks.

Makes me want to scream Daddy.

Elizabeth is there to calm me though.

She tells me that this is as it should be.

She tells me there is nothing on the side of the road except for more road.

I didn’t think I could love her more but I do because of this.

I can sleep now.

And I await more ‘Daddy!’.