THE SICK NEED COMFORT
The bedroom door opened slightly. I could vaguely make out the small figure of Andrew, my seven-year- old son, standing in the doorway. I glanced at the clock. It was 2:45 A.M. “Mom, I need help!” I quickly learned that Andrew was sick. He had vomited twice — once on the floor and once in the bathroom. After helping Andrew, I cleaned up everything and went back to bed. He was sick again at 4:15 a.m. This time, though, he successfully used the pan I had placed by the side of his bed. The following day my son was the opposite of his usually active, independent, loud, at times even boisterous, self. He followed me from room to room, collapsing in a heap on the floor, a bed or the couch. All day he sat or lay as close to me as possible. I didn’t want him to be sick, but I did enjoy the dependence and the closeness. I…
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