Anxiety (again): Bring him home

When Soren had just turned one, I went to a local production of Les Miserables. He was outgrowing babyhood and predictability (no sleep!), and I was worried about how the sitter--a friend--would handle him. It was one of those classic early parenting outings in which a little nugget of attachment and concern keeps burrowing in your chest, even if you're having a great time.

When I hear songs from Les Miz now--even the big Hollywood/Anne Hathaway versions--they are transfused with the bittersweetness of Soren's babyhood. The song "Bring Him Home," in particular, delivers me straight to a chubby, bald little boy left with a sitter. The piece is sung by Valjean, begging God to save Marius from the pending onslaught and return him to his love, Cosette--Valjean's adopted daughter. I remember thinking this was the most beautiful, most parental song of the play. And in the way only music can, it took on a meaning unique to my life. I felt like it had been written just for me in that phase of my young motherhood.

I heard "Bring Him Home" again recently, amid Soren's extreme anxiety (which is cropping up again, this time sprinkled with aggression), and started weeping. To bring him "home" is my plea, too. My poor boy has bouts of angst--sobbing, wrinkling up his little expressive chin, panic in his cry. I don't know exactly what is wrong. Maybe there's no cause. Maybe it's chemical. All I know is that he is in turmoil, sad at his core, and I can't fix it. I can't find the words or the cuddling or the comfort food or the distraction to help him. It is the biggest agony I know as a parent. He is not at home.

So I bawled when I heard this piece again, because it has a whole new meaning now. Please God, bring my sweet bunny home again to where he is comfortable, comforted. Give him peace. Please. He is only a boy.

God on high

Hear my prayer

In my need

You have always been there

He is young

He's afraid

Let him rest

Heaven blessed.

Bring him home

Bring him home

Bring him home.

He's like the son I might have known

If God had granted me a son.

The summers die

One by one

How soon they fly

On and on

And I am old

And will be gone.

Bring him peace

Bring him joy

He is young

He is only a boy

You can take

You can give

Let him be

Let him live

If I die

Let me die

Let him live

Bring him home

Bring him home

Bring him home.