It was bedtime in the Guinn household and six-year-old Malcolm had decided tonight was the night to declare his independence. A book could be read, but there would be no song sung and no snugging with his mommy or someone gently playing with his hair as he twitched off to sleep. In his mind, he was too old for such things. He needed to be more independent. Side note: he’s already the most independent little human I believe I’ve ever seen. But he had a goal. Bedtime by himself. So, his mommy indulged his desire (daddy was at work, or he would also have been indulging), read a book, turned off the light, and gently closed the door. And then she waited.
The baby monitor they still used in case he called out for them at night was silent for a few minutes. And then she heard, “I can do this . . . I can do this . . . I can’t do this . . .” His bedroom door opened and when his mommy peeked around the corner, she found Malcolm dejectedly standing in the hallway. Her question, “Buddy, are you all right?” was met with a very sad “No . . .”
Despite his personal pep talk, Malcolm simply could not drift off to sleep on his own. He missed his song. He missed his mommy snugging and someone playing with his hair. His mind wanted him to be ready. But some part of him still needed those things and the comfort they held.
How many of us go through that same pep talk every day? I can do this . . . I can do this . . . only to realize no amount of positive thinking is going to change the fact that currently, we can’t do this. You know what makes Malcolm so different from the rest of us? When asked if he was all right, he admitted he was not. Most of us will just say we’re fine or everything’s okay, and then we’ll continue trying to muddle through on our own.
My daughter and son-in-law (who had by this time arrived home from work) assured Malcolm it was all right to not be okay in his struggle for bedtime independence. He might be 95% ready, but there could still be that little bit that wasn’t—and that was fine. He could try again the next night, or the next week, or the next month. There wasn’t a deadline for when he should be falling asleep by himself. Just like there isn’t a deadline for being all right when you’re struggling with Life and Death and Grief and all the things that can weigh us down and make us say “I can’t do this”. We just need to take a lesson from a six-year-old and understand it’s okay to admit we aren’t okay. And then to accept the help that’s offered.
About the author: Lisa Shackelford Thomas is a fourth-generation member of a family that’s been in funeral service since 1926 and has worked with Shackelford Funeral Directors in Savannah, Tennessee for over 45 years. Any opinions expressed here are hers and hers alone and may or may not reflect the opinions of other Shackelford family members or staff.
