Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep…


This is a hard day, and the irony of Facebook sends a chill up my spine. This morning, I heard the news that a friend from high school lost his daughter in a car accident two days ago. M. and I have not been close friends for years; we weren’t close friends in high school. I didn’t know his daughter. But M is an amazing person who just lost his child. He and I grew up in a very small, unique place, and this past fall when we all reunited, and hung out again, spending time with M. was a highlight. He’s an incredibly funny guy–– he was in high school, and he is still. M.’s also thoughtful, kind and loves his family. I know that, because we talked about our kids and spouses during a long, meaningful conversation that evening. The conversation and connection took me by surprise, but was one of the most lovely moments that weekend. We caught up on 35 years; it’s what you do at reunions–– but M.’s warmth and sweet character made that conversation extra special.

We talked about other things, but that is what haunts me today. M. loves his family, and two days ago it was shattered. Anyone who has known him, can’t imagine M. without a smile… until now. I imagine he’s feeling broken right now, and there’s nothing anyone can do to change that. This kind of loss is just as inconceivable and terrifying, as it was when I first wrote this pot. All day, the reality of it interrupted my other thoughts. All day, a piece of my heart was grieving… for M, for his family, for the the way the world just shifted, for his beautiful 19 year-old daughter that is gone, and for all the reasons I wrote this piece… exactly four years ago.

A lot’s happened since I wrote this post. All three of my kids have gone off to college, two have graduated, and one has her own baby now. That little boy is the light of my life, and now his fingers and toes, are as precious as those I’ve loved forever. I can no longer slip in and make sure my own babies are sleeping soundly. Most days, I don’t know what they’re doing, at any given moment. Two months ago, a friend lost her 27 year-old son, a boy who had graduated with my daughter. I was struck immobilized, unable to reach out and tell her how sorry I was–– shocked by the proximity of that tragedy. And today, I am shaken again.

A lot has changed in four years. But what hasn’t changed is that when I hear news like this, and I’m reminded that the boogey man is still out there, nothing has changed at all. It’s 12:30am and I can’t sleep. My head is full of the horrific news that a dear man, has lost his child. Facebook has an uncanny way of pointing out that life is not fair, and while it goes on, some days there is nothing you can do but count your blessings and hold someone else in your heart.

TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND

When my babies were small, and slept in their own beds. When my babies were small, and slept in their own beds.

Last night I couldn’t sleep. That’s not totally unusual. I’m a woman of a certain age— there are many things that keep me awake these days. However, last night it was the most horrible of thoughts, the darkest of the dark. Yesterday I read in our local paper that a vibrant young girl, who graduated from the high school that my kids have attended, was killed in a scooter accident overseas, over spring break this week. I knew the girl. Not well, but I knew her face, remembered her personality. She was a baby, just having started college— so much life ahead of her. She was doing something joyful and fun, with her sister and friends. She was having an adventure… All I could think, as I lay in bed last night, the dark pushing in around me, was…

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About Dawn Quyle Landau

Mother, Writer, treasure hunter, aging red head, and sushi lover. This is my view on life, "Straight up, with a twist––" because life is too short to be subtle! Featured blogger for Huffington Post, and followed on Twitter by LeBron James– for reasons beyond my comprehension.
This entry was posted in Honest observations on many things. Bookmark the permalink.

11 Responses to Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep…

  1. It’s true. It takes both of my hands to count the number of facebook friends who have lost adult children. And although I do not dare to imagine how they feel, each loss, to me, feels like a scar on my heart.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. So sad to read this Dawn. Very best wishes to you and your friends.

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  3. Susan Rosenberg says:

    The loss of any child, at any age, goes against the natural order of things. I’m so sorry for your friends, they are in my prayers. I recently read a wonderful book about the death of a young child, Disaster Falls by Stephane Gerson. As beautifully written as it is profoundly sad, it makes you ponder the depths of parental grief as well as healing.

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    • Thanks so much Susan. I appreciate your kind words, as well as you sharing the book. I think we try to avoid these topics, lest we invite it in, but sharing helps make it less painful. Thanks for sharing!

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  4. Certainly a sober post to catch up on. Terrible as these news are , one of the things I reflected on reading this post was that it was nice having you pour your heart over these incidents. Facebook being many things, I find it grossly easy to become apathetic or to even be deliberate in choosing to only focus or really consider posts that keep us light hearted or oblivious. I guess keeping myself in a bubble qualifies the same , only with oblivion ):
    Hope you sleep better tonight . Don’t know where your kids are, but checking back sporadically, it sure sounds like they’re all having a damn good time out there somewhere !

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thanks Sarah. Our friend buried his daughter today, and as a group of old friends, we are all grieving with him. It’s just unbearable. My kids are all well and happy, but my daughter lives over-seas, and that’s definitely hard. All three of them are adventurous and out there loving life, but as parents, it’s hard not to worry sometimes. Thanks for your thoughtful words–– some meaningful points.

      Liked by 1 person

  5. I’m so sorry for al the recent losses. So difficult. Sending hugs.

    Liked by 1 person

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