Ways of Comfort

By Laura Schiller

Based on: the Weetzie Bat series

Copyright: Francesca Lia Block

When my older daughter had bad dreams as a child, she used to wander into the pink bedroom where my love and I sleep. It kept her safe, she said, looking up at us with her golden hair standing up in tufts, with eyes as round and innocent as those of our dachshund puppies. Sometimes I would go down to the kitchen and make her a cup of hot milk with cinnamon and cloves, or the blend of herbal tea we call 'sleepytime'. She would tell me about the monsters chasing her, or of falling through the sky, and I would tell her that it was just her imagination, that our brains do crazy things while we're asleep and there is nothing to be afraid of. And she would smile and reach up her hands so I could pick her up and carry her to bed.

When my younger daughter, who is not my blood relation at all but whom I love just as much, had nightmares, it was different. She would scream, waking her sister and sometimes the whole house, but when we came rushing into the room asking what was wrong, she would curl up like a snail in her shell and snarl at us to go away. She never told us what she dreamed about; the screams were involuntary, but while she was awake she had her pride to keep up. Sometimes, however, I would find Tiki-Tee, her favorite brown-eyed puppy, and bring him to the girls' room when they were asleep, and he would climb into bed with her and fall asleep there. On those nights, her dreams did not disturb her, and she came down to breakfast with clear eyes and an almost-smile on her lips. From the way she looked at me, I knew she knew how the dog had ended up on her bed, but we all pretended he just wandered there on his own.

My daughters are like day and night; they even look like opposites, one a graceful little dancer with a sweep of corn-silk hair, one a wild, fierce drummer girl whose black curls were tangled up like seaweed before she shaved them off. They fought like cat and dog until their teenage years; then they suddenly became friends, playing in the same band, whispering secrets in the privacy of their room. I don't think I'll ever fully understand either of them; every time I think I do, they keep on growing, slipping through my fingers. But what I know for sure is that I'm blessed to be their mother – I'll always do my best to help them deal with their night-shadows, wherever and whenever they may come.