It was some time late at night, or early in the morning (who can tell which is which) when I heard the sound of Bennett near me, in the dark, sniffling back tears.
“What’s wrong, honey?” I asked, scooping him in my arms, pulling him into bed with me, trying to fully wake from my dream (Emily Perl Kingsley was on Oprah, I kid you not, these are the things I dream of).
“I’m so sad,” Bennett said.
“Really? Because some day, my brothers will die before me.”
“Oh, sweetie. You don’t know that! You might be the one who goes first.”
More tears, louder sobbing, of course I’ve made everything worse. Jolted completely awake, I try to fix it, backpeddling, when Tom rolls over from his own dreams and says, “No. No one’s going to die. Daddy says No. Go to sleep.”
And? We did.
Note to self: next time, sing a lullaby.