He Was Trying To Call for Me Quiet

A nosebleed. A lesson. And a heart that broke in two directions at once.

Kiddo does not like to be alone. He never has. He wants to be within eyesight at all times, and if I am not visible, he needs to know where I am. Not because anything bad is happening. Just because I am his anchor and anchors are supposed to stay put.

I have learned to narrate my movements. I’m going to the kitchen. I’ll be right back. I’m putting baby girl down for a nap. You can come with me or stay here but I will be upstairs for a little while.

He has gotten good at this lately. Choosing to stay. Trusting that I am coming back. Listening to the monitor so he can hear me moving upstairs and knows I am still there. It has taken time and it is a big deal, and I do not take it for granted.

Today was no different.

Do you want to come?

No.

Okay. You’re staying here. Remember I’m going upstairs to put baby girl down. I’ll be back. Please be quiet.

And up I went.

I came back downstairs and he was covered in blood.

His shirt was drenched. His hands were red. Paper towels everywhere. His nose had been bleeding, and he had been managing it alone and doing a genuinely terrible job of it in the way that eight-year-olds manage nosebleeds alone.

Oh my god. Kiddo. What happened. Are you okay?

And he looked at me and said the thing that broke my heart completely in half.

I was trying to call for you. But I was trying to be really quiet. Because I didn’t want to bother you putting baby girl down.

I want you to understand what he did.

He was bleeding. He was scared. He needed help. And he made the decision in his eight year old brain that being quiet for baby girl’s nap was more important than getting himself help. So he sat there. Alone. Trying to manage a nosebleed with paper towels. Trying to call for me quietly. Hoping I would somehow hear him without him making noise.

I did not hear him.

I was upstairs doing the thing I told him I was doing and he was down here bleeding quietly because he didn’t want to be a bother.

I felt sick.

We went to the bathroom. Cleaned him up. Got his shirt off. New tissue. The nosebleed had already mostly stopped because he had in fact been managing it even if he had been managing it dramatically. He was fine. He was always going to be fine.

But I needed him to hear something before we moved on.

If you need me you come get me. I do not care what I am doing. Baby girl napping does not matter. Nothing matters more than you needing help. There is a difference between forgetting I’m putting her down and actually needing me. If you need me you come get me. Every single time. No exceptions. Ever.

He started to cry.

Not scared crying. Not hurt crying.

Relief crying.

And then he said the other thing that got me.

I was really trying not to panic. It was really hard.

He was eight years old, alone, bleeding, scared, and actively working on not panicking because he thought that was what the situation required of him.

I told him I was so proud of him and that it also made my heart hurt that he thought he had to do that alone.

I told him he was the most important person in the entire world and that if he needed help he got help and if he needed me, he got me and that was never going to change no matter what.

He cried a little more.

Then he wiped his face and asked what was for dinner.

I spent the rest of the day thinking about the five minutes I was upstairs.

He didn’t panic. He tried to stay quiet. He tried to handle it. He tried to call for me in a voice small enough not to disturb the nap.

Eight years old and already editing his needs down to a size he thought was acceptable.

That’s the part I keep coming back to.

He is allowed to need things at full volume. He is allowed to be loud about it. He is allowed to bleed and panic and holler for me from the bottom of the stairs at the top of his lungs and I will come every single time.

I need him to know that.

I need him to always know that.

Not bad for a Tuesday.