At about 4:00am this morning, I was awakened by a knock on my bedroom door. My wife heard the thumping as well. In her semi-conscious state from under the covers, she gently nudged me with her elbow, followed by a muffled “someone’s at the door”. Not at all completely awake myself, the first words out of my mouth – I believe – were something that sounded in retrospect like, “I have don’t know my pants on.”
Folding back the covers to check and discover that I indeed had no pants on, I proceeded to scramble hurriedly into my pajamas and stumble toward the door where, upon opening it, stood my only daughter, crying.
With tears streaming down her face, she told me that she couldn’t sleep because her throat was killing her and had actually woken her up from the pain. Of course, with my heart swollen, I gathered her into my arms and led her toward the medicine cabinet in our bathroom… in the dark… not completely sure I wasn’t dreaming, but going with it anyway because, well, she’s my daughter and I’d fight the world for her. Even in my dreams.
I managed to pick out the medication she needed. Successfully measured it without spilling it (I think). Then hugged her tightly before praying for her healing, and for her to have a peaceful night’s sleep.
I got back in the bed and didn’t see her again until around 11:30am, downstairs in the kitchen.
And with a smile, she thanked me, told me she felt better, and was so glad that she was able to fall asleep.
I felt like a hero. A tired hero. But a hero nonetheless. 🙂