where angels fear to tread

several times during the harrowing events of the past week, my son has seen me distraught. one time, my body was heaving with sobs i tried hard to conceal from him. he put his tiny hand over mine and said, "mama, it's ok. everything's ok, mama." then he put his arms around me and commanded me, "embrace!" it's embarrassing to look back, but it felt surreal to be surrendering my pain to my 3-year old son but he was so strong and radiant at that moment... and so serene.

another time i was lying on my side in bed, unable to sleep. my breath was coming in ragged installments but i was not aware of it until mikka rolled towards me and planted a kiss on my cheek. then S said, "tingnan mo, mama, alam ni mikka na kelangan mo niyan." the wetness on my face was strangely reassuring, like an indelible mark of love and support. something i have not gotten from areas i had thought were non-negotiable and a "sure thing".

every time things have gotten me down, i have tended to withdraw into my shell, sacrificing the attention i normally give my husband and son while licking my wounds. but moments of grace, of unconditional giving and beauty, have a way of puncturing the debilitating cloud of doubt and sadness that shrouds the inner sanctuary. mikka has always been my angel. that has been clear since i carried him in my belly for 38 weeks, affirming my second lease in life by making me his mother. we always pray 'angel of god' together before he sleeps... rather, when i remember to pray with him, meaning... when i'm not absorbed in my petty troubles.

it was a welcome break tonight when S went drinking in town with his fellow student buddies and i asked mikka at 930 if he wanted to go home. after asking me at least 20 times where his papa, tito A, and tito M were, i was able to get him in his jammies, brush his teeth, and to weewee in the toilet. he still has a bit of the nasty cough plaguing him all week. while i read him a story about pocahontas he looked at me in wonder, unaccustomed to see mama doing papa's normal routine. he fell asleep clutching my hand tightly --- or maybe it was the other way around --- breathing deeply and peacefully.

before he slipped into the warm comfort of slumber we prayed angel of god together. i usually trace the sign of the cross lightly on his forehead. tonight he did his own sign of the cross then said softly...

"mama, my angel is gone."
i groped for words. "oh mikka, your angel is always with you."
"where?"
"you can't see her, but she's always hugging you. she loves you very much."
"my angel?"
"yes, sweetheart. she never leaves you."

he lay thoughtfully in the gathering dusk. i could see the dark orbs of his eyes combing the shadow of my face. i felt a loud pounding in my ears and willed for it to stop. it seemed an eternity before i realised it was my heart. then he squeezed my hand before his first soft snore filled the room. for the first time in what has felt like forever, something crept quietly into my limbs --- like a sob that never reached expression, losing all impetus for doing so. clinging to the small hand, i fell into a restful sleep, the first i've had in ages.