Susan LaffertySometimes troubles flow. Underneath.
A running series of concerns. Questions darting here and there.
Waking in the night. Persistent through the day. Disquiet, rhythmic.
Children’s needs. Aging parents. Friends’ struggles.
Natural disasters. State of the world.
Future plans, uncertain.
You name it.
Back in the day we studied our stress by listing losses. Marking life experiences.
All the cross-cultural moves. Illnesses. Births. Deaths. Evacuations.
Added up, the numbers were telling.
Stress levels confirmed.
“Momma. Momma.” I woke from a deep sleep. In the middle of the night.
Jenna, 6 or 7 years old at the time, was standing next to the bed. Pressing my arm.
Yes?
“I heard a voice. Like this…” her voice changed from sweet innocence to a guttural growl. “‘Jenna, I’m going to get you.’ And there were two red eyes. And he laughed like this…” It was an evil laugh.
I sat up straight in bed. On high alert. Heart pounding. Wide awake.
