Once again I climbed the stairs. A trip I have taken a thousand times. Often, like last night, in the wee hours, groggy from lack of sleep. On one such trip, while racing in the dark, I stubbed my toe. Hopping on one foot, stifling a yell, I nearly fell. That was a lifetime ago, and I was a much younger, agiler man. In contrast, last night’s quick ascent was dignified and majestic – as befits my status as the family elder.

Okay, if you’re going to quibble, I’m just old and slow now. Nevertheless, I again completed the climb.

You may want to know why, and since this would be a short piece if I didn’t tell you – here goes.

Thirty years ago, when I stubbed my toe, I was responding to blood-curdling screams from my daughter’s room. While climbing through the dark, my mind raced, “What was in her room? Did some varmint breach the sanctity of our hearth and home?”

No, there was no ‘criter or monster to battle, just our first experience with night terrors. There would be more such episodes before Erin outgrew them. Between then and now I’ve repeated the trip many times, for many reasons; a croupy cough, a bad dream, the flu, an out of control sleepover, or strange noises. Mostly, I made the climb merely to check on my sleeping children.

Last week,  son Nick and his wife Katie were away on business, and my wife and I watched the young’uns.

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;” – Shakespeare’s Henry V

Once more, was I summoned to scale those heights -thrice by a toddler’s sobs, twice by a wayward three-year-old, and once by an errant alarm clock.

Yes, an alarm clock – earlier in the day, little fingers, carefree fingers, anonymous fingers unknowingly armed an antique clock. At midnight, the forgotten, long silent radio, screamed to life. I sprung from my bed to quell its noise, lest it rouse the young’uns.

Moments later, gasping for air, I basked in the silence of my success. By the light of the old nightlight, I watched the three, and five-year-old girls sleep, thankfully undisturbed by the chaos. I smiled at my good fortune and peered into the boy’s dorm. Neither the toddler nor his older brother stirred.

Relieved, I settled into the hall rocker that once graced my Grandpa’s living room. Listening to the rhythmic breathing, I absently ran my hand over the arm. It had been broken decades ago, and the feel of Grandpa’s rough repair triggered a flood of memories:

There was Grandpa, watching the White Sox.

There was my wife, rocking our newborn son, our first child. Lord, we had no idea what to expect.

There I was, comforting an infant suffering its first night away from Mom. In fact, I did so for each of those sleeping grandchildren.

Awash in such memories, I studied the familiar doors through which I had watched my own children sleep.

Has it been that long ago?

Eventually, I returned to my bed. Bits and pieces of a poem ran through my head, a musical earworm I could not shake. A  search of the web located the poem. I’d like to share a few portions with you.

Can I Carry You

“I guess that I can hold you
one more time before you grow
and tell you that I love you
so that you will always know.
Please let me tie your shoe again.
One day you’ll tie your own.
…
“Please let me help you up the hill
while you’re still too small to climb.
And let me read you stories
while you’re young and have the time.
I know the day will come
When you will do these things alone.
…
“So will you let me carry you?
One day you’ll walk alone.
I cannot bear to miss one day
from now until you’ve grown.”

– Brad Anderson
https://husseinanthology.weebly.com/can-i-carry-you—brad-anderson.html

Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Along the way stop and savor the small things, as those are the moments you will remember.

David Dahl

You can read more about Olivia’s Story: Protector of the Realm here

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