Dean lay awake in his bed that night. He knew sleep was a forlorn idea, and had given up on it long ago. He got out of bed and went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer. He sat at the table, trying to get a handle on his own emotions.
A few days ago, his mother had been resurrected.
He hadn't seen her alive in 33 years. His heart had leapt in his chest when he'd seen her. He had felt so much joy when she had held him. They were going to be a family again! He was glowing with happiness.
But then tonight had happened.
Tonight, his mother had said she needed time away from them to grieve her losses. He understood the need to grieve, but he didn't think his Mom understood what he was feeling.
The four year old child he was once was still inside of him, under layers of hardness and emotionlessness. The little boy who had seen his Mommy die was still there underneath it all. The past few days had helped to heal the scars left from that. Now, his scars were being ripped open again. Mommy had gone. Again.
Didn't she understand how much he had cried for her in the beginning? Didn't she understand how many times he'd prayed for her to come home? Didn't she know how many times he'd asked his Dad where she was? Didn't she know how much he missed her?
Mommy had said she was coming back, but the last time he thought she was coming back was when she died. He didn't want that to happen again. He tried to push the thoughts aside with beer, chugging one and then another in a futile attempt to escape his fears.
He drank his alcohol and went back to bed, all the thoughts swimming in his head. He closed his eyes. If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear her singing to him again. Her voice in his head lulled him to sleep for the night.
