Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me

I woke up to the sound of someone walking into the house. I reached out to look at my phone - it was 1:15 in the morning.

I was startled but not afraid. I knew who it was.

I walked down the stairs and into the living room. He stood there looking exhausted and weepy.

"What are you doing here?"

He shrugged, helpless.

"How did you get here, sweetie?"

"I walked."

"You walked here from daddy's?"

It's three and a half miles. It's 1:15 in the fucking morning.

He nodded and started to cry. "I needed to be with you," he said.

I looked down and saw he wasn't wearing any shoes. Three and a half miles. Three and a half miles in the middle of the night with no shoes. Wandering around Colorado Boulevard in the middle of the night.

Three and a half miles in the middle of the goddamned night with no shoes.

"Mom, I'm so tired. I'm so cold."

I sat down on the couch and he curled himself into my lap.  I wrapped my arms around him and rocked him the way I did when he was a baby.

"It's ok, honey. You're ok. I'm here. You're safe."

He nodded and closed his eyes. He was so worn out and relieved to be with me that it brought tears to my eyes.

"Sweetie, let's go upstairs and get in bed. You need to sleep. We can talk in the morning."

He was going through some stuff with his dad. Neither of them was handling it well, but one of them is a child, and one isn't. Sometimes I think adults don't realize the emotional impact they have on their children. They don't think about how their words and actions can make their child feel like the solid ground beneath their feet has turned to quicksand. They don't realize that a cutting remark doesn't just leave a scrape - it's a deep stab.

I was in a constant state of crippling anxiety, worrying about my children, trying to help them navigate a rough time, trying to keep work and the house and everything else functioning.

A woman I know, whose son is friends with Zeke, remarked, "he left his dad's house in the middle of the night and walked to your house without telling anyone? That's such bad behavior. You must have been ready to kill him."

I wanted to say, of course I wasn't ready to kill him, you moron. A ten-year-old doesn't walk three miles to their mother's house in the middle of the night - barefoot - because they're misbehaving. They do it because they're in pain.

It was devastating to think about how desperate he must have felt to do that.

We went to the Outer Banks a few days later. It was as it always is - familiar and beautiful and consistent. I got a good tan. I read some books. I spent some quality time with my brother Josh.

But Zeke was a mess. I was a mess. I felt like my life was a mess. I wasn't sleeping. The anxiety gripped my chest like a vise. I cried constantly. I felt responsible for everything, and like I was utterly failing.

Eventually, after we were home, he and his dad worked stuff out. He's much, much better. School is going well. Everyone is getting along.

You think that the awfulness can't possibly resolve itself. And then, very quickly, it does.

But man, it was a hard summer.