It was very early in the morning, and I woke with a crick in my neck. Rolling from my side to my back, shifting my head on the pillow, I remembered I’d slept on the floor in Hugo’s room. Every bone in my body ached.
Goodness, I certainly was getting old.
The night-light shone just enough that I could see that Hugo still slept soundly, his little body so close to the edge of the bed I feared he’d fall off. His lips were parted just slightly, and his fingers curled in a fist, holding the silky part of his blanket. It was hard to believe that this sweet one, so calm and peaceful, had woken in the middle of the night screaming for me to come and help.
It had been a whole week since his last bad dream, and this one had caught me right when I thought they were done for good.
Managing to get myself up off the floor, I saw that it was still dark out. I thought I could get an hour more of sleep in my own bed. I folded the blanket I’d pulled atop me and grabbed the pillow just before I heard a little voice.
“Aunt Betty?” Hugo said, his voice barely a whisper.
“It’s not time to get up yet, dearest,” I said. “You can sleep a little longer.”
I bent over him, kissing his temple and feeling his curls on my face.
“Did my mommy die?” he asked.
“Oh, honey,” I said. “No.”
He let go of a deep breath, and I could see his little shoulders relaxing as if he’d carried a far too heavy weight for much too long.
“Is that what your bad dream was about?” I asked.
He nodded. “Would you tell me if she was dead?”
“Yes. I would.” I touched his forehead. “I would never keep something like that from you.”
“Do dreams sometimes come true?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking.” I sat on the edge of his bed. “I think that means that sometimes wishes and hopes come true. Not that nightmares do.”
Worry creased the space between his eyebrows. “Is she still at the hospital?”
“Yes.” I cupped his cheek with my hand.
“When can she come home?”
“Just as soon as the doctors say she’s better.”
“What if she doesn’t ever get better?” Hugo asked, his little eyelids blinking so heavily and slowly. “What if she stays sick forever?”
“Sweetheart, I don’t know,” I said.
I smoothed his hair. It was getting long, and I thought I’d need to find a barber soon to give him a trim.
“Can I tell you a story?” I asked. “A very short one?”
“Okay,” he said, sniffling.
“There was once a turtle named Sam,” I began. “He lived near a river filled with crayfish and frogs and minnows. The sun shone through the leaves that hung over the water like a canopy, and a gentle breeze was always blowing so that it didn’t get too hot.”
“That sounds nice,” Hugo said. “I want to go there sometime.”
“Maybe Nick and Dick would too.” I winked at him before going on. “But even as wonderful and special as that riverside was, Sam was too afraid to enjoy it. Can you believe that?”
“What was he scared of?”
“Everything. When the leaves rustled in the wind, he’d gasp. If a minnow darted through the water, Sam would yelp with fright. If one of the frogs croaked, Sam would run as far away as he could get—which wasn’t far or fast, if you want to know the truth.”
I grinned at him, and he smiled back.
“Sam decided one day that the world was just too scary,” I went on. “He pulled his arms into his shell. Then his legs. Last his head. He thought that if he could hide from the world, he’d be safe.”
“Oh, Sam.” Hugo shook his head.
“The trouble was, Sam was so worried about getting hurt that he missed all the wonderful things around him. He didn’t see a rainbow that crossed the entire sky after the rain. And he never got to meet the brand-new baby bunnies that were born in the warren near the edge of the woods. When the hummingbirds came to visit the honeysuckle near where he hid in his shell, he missed them completely.”
“It is,” I said. “One day a tiny ant crawled into Sam’s shell and told him about everything he was missing out on because he was hiding. So, Sam stuck his pointy nose out of the shell and right away smelled the sweet lilacs in the bush nearby. Then he poked his head out so he could see the pretty blue sky above him. Then his ears next, and he heard the delicate song of the chickadee.”
Hugo blinked slowly and yawned.
“Sam let his arms and legs push out of the shell and felt the cool grass and warm sunshine against his skin.” I pulled the sheet up over Hugo’s shoulders. “Sam stepped toward the water and slid on the dirt until he was in the river, feeling it rushing around him.”
I stood as quietly as I could, the tingles in my toes turning to stings as I put weight on my feet. Backing away, I watched the gentle rise and fall of Hugo’s shoulders, his heavy eyelids closed and his mouth opening again, just a little.
“Don’t let the scary things of the world keep you from seeing the good,” I whispered, as much to myself as to him. “Even the darkest night can’t put out all the light.”
The sunrise had just turned the sky a deep indigo. Instead of going back to sleep, I sat on the steps next to an east-facing window and watched, trying to see the coming sun the way my mother might have. Glory upon glory. Color more brilliant than any painting.
Just along the horizon I saw the birth of the morning.
This was the gift God had for me right that moment.
I saw hope.