Bedtime Story
As the sun had long set, it was time for bed.
Jack looked up at his mother, his eyes telling her he wanted a story before bed.
Jack’s mother liked telling her small boy stories.
She liked that he would sit, his eyes riveted on her as she told him her tale.
Tonight it was about a small boy who every night told his mother the same thing.
That he was afraid of the dark.
His mother worried that her son would continually recount his fear of the dark.
Every night he told his mother after she turned out the light visitors would come.
It was clear to her that he believed the story he told.
Every night she would hear him call out to her.
Every night she would run to him, hold him and rock him off to sleep.
Every morning she would look at him and ask him if he had slept well.
His reply was always; when the lady rocked me to sleep I slept so well.
His mother heard this story so often she decided to use it to help her son sleep better.
So the next night when bedtime arrived she looked at him with love, the love only a mother knows and told her son that when she turned off the light and he was afraid, to ask the lady to protect him.
Expecting the usual evening to occur she retired to her room and awaited his call.
None came.
Worried she went to his door.
All she heard was the soft breathing of her son.
She sat beside him looking at his sleeping innocence.
The next morning she again asked him how he had slept.
Great he said.
No visitors she asked?
Oh yes he said.
But you didn’t call out to me, she had said.
He looked at her and said that the visitors had gathered round his bed but the lady had asked them to go away.
And they did go away he said.
Then she sat and told me a story he said.
She said I would sleep fine from now on.
The next evening when she was putting her son to bed she asked him if he wanted a story.
No he replied, the lady said she would come and tell him one.
Her son, she noted was very keen to get to bed.
Goodnight mother he had said as she left the room.
She waited outside his room and listened.
In time she heard him talking.
She crept to his door and pushed it open, enough to see into his room.
There was her son sitting up in his bed, his eyes open, looking at the end of his bed.
Staring straight at his mother.
But she knew he wasn’t looking at her.
As she pushed his door opened she saw him settle into his bed, close his eyes and drift off to sleep.
The mother stood and watched her son.
He slept peacefully.
In the morning she could not wait to ask about whom he was talking to.
The lady he replied.
What does she look like?
She looks like you mummy he said.
Like me?
Yes. Some nights she sings to me.
What does she sing?
Go to sleep pretty baby, mummy will be here
Mummy will be watching over you.
The mother sat and remembered a time when that same song had been sung to her.
She recalled the lady who sang it to her.
She knew then, her son was safe.
I wrote this story one night after spending the day with my dying father. Each night I would come home and write as my way of dealing with what was happening in my world. As he struggled each day against pneumonia the strain was enormous on me. This story I wrote two days before he died, I think I was saying to him that it was ok to go, that he would be alright.
Morpethroad 
this is sad and beautiful wrapped in a lovely blanket of words.
Thank you so much Jen. That has made my day that you have made the effort to read it.
you are welcome – now ssh reading I found my dad today 🙂
Hauntingly beautiful! You have such a kind way with words. I am happy I searched and found this piece. Beautiful.
Hi Anja, thank you for finding the Bedtime story and for your very generous comment.
How beautiful and haunting – and comforting. I wondered how I missed you posting this, but then I looked at the date, and it was only 5 days after I lost my dad. He went only moments after my step-mum and I had each said a few words and kisses him. I don’t know what she said to him, but I know that I told him that it was OK to go, he shouldn’t worry, we would look after each other. And then he went. So, knowing that someone will be safe is one of the most important things in life. Just beautiful.
Thank you Freya, my dad was very low the night I wrote this, and I think it is one of my best pieces, and it was my way of letting him go and for him to let go as well as he had struggled long enough.
Oh Michael this brings tears to my eyes beautiful and very very touching
Thank you my finest work I have often thought.
Indeed it comes from the heart and soul
So beautiful Michael. Tender and loving. I can see why you believe it’s your best.
Thank you Jackie I appreciate you taking the time to read this piece. It is special to me.
I can see why it’s special. I thank you for pointing me to it so that I could read it.
Thank you for taking the time Jackie.
I can understand how this would bring you and your family peace. And knowing it came OUT of you is proof for you personally that this peace is a very real thing that is inside of you.
Thank you Sandra it’s a piece which has great significance to me. Thank you so much for finding it and your lovely comment.
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this story is sad and beautiful at the same time. I am sorry about your father. May his soul rest in peace. I hope you are doing good.
Thank you so much. Yes I am doing well.
The bedtime stories we write to ourselves…
this is a moving piece.
Ellespeth
Thank you Ellespeth I appreciate you reading my work, that’s an old piece I wrote when my dad was dying…