“Mommy!” came the cry about 1 a.m. I’d been lying in bed unable to sleep anyway, but getting out from under the cocoon of covers is never easy. I already knew what was wrong.

Kostyn was writhing and crying, holding his left leg. “My leg really, really huuuuuuurrrts!” he cried. The pain wakes him up once in awhile, particularly after a busy day of playing and running. Could be growing pains, but it reminds me of the same kind of pain I had as a kid, the kind that went largely unexplained, even after a family trip to Boston Children’s Hospital.

I fetched some Children’s Tylenol and he sat up and drank it eagerly. Then he lay down and started to cry again, his sobs getting louder and louder. I shushed him and stroked his hair, told him it would just be a few minutes for the medicine to start working. I pulled the covers off him and sat down on the bed, unfolding his legs over mine and gently massaging the one that hurt. I thought about all those middle-of-the-nights when my dad would come into my room and massage Ben-Gay into my legs as I tried to stifle my sobs. It hurt so badly.

He kept crying. I had one overwhelming thought: Don’t wake your brother, don’t wake your brother, don’t wake your brother.

I looked down at his legs on my lap. “I remember when your whole body used to fit across my lap,” I said quietly. “Now look at you. You’re growing so much only half of your legs fits across my lap!” He started to quiet down a bit.

“What were you dreaming about before you woke up?” I asked, trying to keep his straying mind from returning to the pain. He didn’t answer, but I asked another question, and we began chatting quietly in the dark. The sobs turned to sniffles, the sniffles to whispery questions.

After a few minutes he sat up and crawled onto me, curling his whole body into a ball on my lap.

“I still fit on your lap,” he said.

I smiled. Kissed the top of his head. “You do. I hope you always will.”

A few more minutes and he was settled back under the covers. I knelt on the floor by his head and he wrapped his arms around my neck. I asked him what he was going to dream about. “I will try to meet you in your dreams.”

“I’m going to go first and then you follow,” he said.

“Where will you go? I need to know so I know where to find you.”

“I’ll be in the desert, near a big palm tree,” he whispered. I smiled in the dark.

“OK,” I whispered back. “I’ll see you there soon.” I turned on their night light, which shines blue stars onto the ceiling, and walked back across the tiny hallway to our room. I climbed into bed, closed my eyes and imagined my son sitting under a palm tree surrounded by sand. The scene was odd and desolate, but he looked happy. That’s the last thing I remember.

Around 7:30 a.m. just when I was stirring from sleep, Kostyn appeared, climbing under the covers. “I want to snuggle with you.”

“Just for one minute, honey. We need to get up and get ready for school.”

He lay there beside me and I kissed his forehead. I almost didn’t want to ask, but I was curious.

“Did I find you in your dreams?” I asked.

“You did,” he said. “You picked me up from under the palm tree and you were so happy.” I had an overwhelming urge to thank the dream version of myself for not letting us down.

“I sure was.”