My son Aaron is like most children his age. He plays and laughs. He asks questions about everything. Even though he's only five, he thinks he's the man of the house—and he doesn't let me forget it. He's the only man in my life. He tries to be so strong; he won't come to me to kiss his wounds when he falls. Only when he's tired and forgets himself does he let me take him in my arms and sing him to sleep.
At the same time, he isn't like other children at all. He dreams things that would make most men tremble. He remembers things from when he was so young that I would think it was impossible… except that I remember it, too. Sometimes he draws his dreams, and with such vivid detail that it frightens me. I wish there was something I could do. I wish I could tell him…
This time he wakes me up in the night, and it wasn't a bad dream. It was pleasant and peaceful. He says he must draw it before her face is gone. Who's face? I can only wonder. My eyes start to droop as I watch him sketch the outline of a person. He asked for drawing lessons last month, and he learns quickly. He is quite the artist already.
"Mama?" He has finished and he shakes me a little to make sure I am awake. I open my eyes and stare at the portrait for a moment before I fully realize who it is. The likeness is astonishing. The detail is remarkable. I stare at it for several seconds, waves of emotion soaking me as I am lost in the resemblance of my son and this drawing. I wonder if he sees it. I try to hide my emotion but it's too late. He has studied my face and learned. He has seen my expression and knows that I recognize her. He has not put together how. I hope he never will. "Mama?" He is talking to me, asking me who she is. I can't tell him. I only shake my head. "She looks like an angel." I tell him. "Maybe she's your guardian angel."
He is not satisfied with my answer, but he accepts it, reluctantly at first and then he is excited. He insists that we put it up above his bed so that she may watch him while he sleeps. He says that his dreams will not frighten him if she is there.
My heart aches as I help him tape it up. We'll frame it in the morning. I kiss him goodnight and sit with him until he is asleep.
I then go back to my own room, but I can't sleep, so I go downstairs. He will not hear me down there. I pour myself a drink and curl up on the couch. I am tempted to make a call, but I know it will be fruitless. So I stare off into a painting on the wall, hoping to lose myself in it, but my thoughts are too loud. They distract me. Tears come silent and I am crying before I know it. Why did he have to see her? Her, of everyone and all people he could have seen… why her? It pains me more than words can say to know that he cannot know who she is, that I have taken her place. I didn't mean to. God knows I didn't want to. I didn't have a choice. It just happened. I can't tell him. He wouldn't understand.
I imagine the look on his face when he finds out, the glare in his eye, the sound of his voice as he asks why he wasn't told. I see myself sobbing, broken, as I explain that it was the only way to protect them… the only way to protect her… and the only way to protect him. I can't bear to see the distrust in his eyes as he turns away from me and storms off. It wasn't my fault. It isn't my fault. He comes back and demands to know everything that happened. He has no sympathy for me as I tell him. I hope that he will see, and that he will forgive me. That he will forgive all of us.
Little hands are shaking me and I open my eyes, finding that I have been asleep. It was only a dream. I am on the couch. How much of it was a dream?
"Mama" Aaron whispers "She says we can go back now."
I stare at him for a long time, and then I smile. I don't know if I am happy or sad… all I know is that my son loves me… and that we are done hiding. I want to tell him everything. I want him to understand. He asks where she meant we could go and I only shake my head again and tell him that I have to make a phone call.
We can go back now. I wonder why she changed her mind.