The night is coming sooner now, even if the clock on the far side of the room doesn't show it, and the early arrival of darkness outside seems to suck that much more time out of days that already seem too short.

 

The darkness does helps with the bedtime routine, allowing me to avoid the question "Why do I have to go to bed when it is still light outside?" 

 

Most nights I put the middle one to bed, her small head resting against my arm as she listens to her book before climbing under her blanket.

 

She is tired at night, the challenges of her day, challenges that might seem insignificant  to most - walking, talking, learning - take their toll on her, needing energy she just doesn't have.

 

Despite it all she smiles, a little beacon of light glowing under what might look from the outside like a cloud of darkness.

 

The earlier darkness helps me at night as well, hiding tears as I kiss her good night. 

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Comment by Joe Gensle on October 29, 2011 at 3:01pm
this plays on heartstrings sweeter than the harp in the symphony. Excellent.
Comment by Bill Floyd on October 29, 2011 at 12:56pm
A heroic show of finding the good in the darkness.  Here's to spring.
Comment by Angela on October 29, 2011 at 10:42am
You led me very gently through this in an unsentimental way.  I admire your controlled use of language and mood.
Comment by Toby Tucker Hecht on October 28, 2011 at 9:16pm

This is really powerful and it has a subtext that the reader can guess at.  The idea of going to bed when it's still light out reminds me of the poem by Robert Louis Stevenson:

 

Bed in Summer
By Robert Louis Stevenson 1850–1894

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.


I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.


And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?
Comment by bolton carley on October 27, 2011 at 2:40pm
you and writing the tear-jerkers.  i'm gonna put you with nicholas sparks here soon. :)  but your first and last lines say it so well.
Comment by Bonnie on October 27, 2011 at 7:28am
Love this title. You have expressed the sentiment of knowing and of sadness very well. Love line 6.
Comment by Kristine_ES on October 26, 2011 at 11:49pm

you know what gets me the most about this... is that here is a dad who reads to his daughter. tucks them in. and hides the tears.  any daughter would be so happy and proud to know this, and maybe you can show this to her someday. 

Comment by Teresa on October 26, 2011 at 9:07pm
It's been a tough couple of days so I really get this.  I lean hard on other parents who "get it", from deep down on the inside.  They don't pity me, they just nod and I nod back and we both feel better because we know we're understood and not alone.  Here's a warm nod your way.  A parent of two autistic boys told me recently that she sought therapy and the therapist said that her problems were like rocks carried around in a backpack.  I told her the therapist should have mentioned that the rocks are for building.  We have to make something of them.  Create.  Looks like your instincts already knew what to do.  Beautiful.  Kudos.
Comment by Travis Smith on October 26, 2011 at 8:24pm
Thank you both - she is a little ray of sunshine.
Comment by Cita on October 26, 2011 at 7:15pm
Oh, Travis.  Beautifully done.  I like this side of you, my favorite serial killer.

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