We’re at my parent’s house. We’re staying in the cabin.
10.14 pm. I walked to The House to get extra blankets and pillows.
It is dark. My mother lit candles in little tin cans all along the path from the cabin to the house. Beautiful. Romantic.
At the house, I turn around…
and my little one, my almost-four year old, is there.
Mama, I’m scared.
So scared that she braved a trek across a quarter of an acre from the cabin to the house in the dark?
And so I wonder, in my best Carrie Bradshaw fashion, how often we think or say “I’m scared” when what we mean is:
I miss you
I want you
I need you