“DAI! DAI! ANI LO ROTZEH!”
The screams jolt through me, pushing me upwards in a panic. I race towards her room and stumble at the doorway.
She is still on her bed, breathing evenly in a deep, dark sleep.
I sit down heavily at the table. My arms support my head while my heart returns to my chest.
It’s been going on for months, this tormented sleep.
There is nothing to be done.
Sleep terrors are not nightmares. They don’t come from thoughts throughout the day or fears hidden just under the surface.
No one really knows where they come from.
I can’t wake her during an episode.
I can’t touch her, stroke her hair, or call her name.
She doesn’t remember any of it in the mornings.
She seems well-rested, and is happy and playful all day.
It isn’t infringing on her life.
I am exhausted.
I am scared stiff.
What is terrorizing my little girl?
How can I make it stop?
I want to be there, inside her head, inside her dreams, and kill whatever freakish thing is lurking there.
I can only watch as she battles this alone.
My limitations are glaringly obvious.
I should be her protector, her savior and her strength.
But, as she thrashes around and screams terrifying chills up my spine, I can only be a mother who must sit back and wait it out.
Oh how I suffer for thee, my child, for thee…