The Bedside Vigil

It's three a.m., and I have found myself - totally awake (as opposed to only dreaming this) - playing  an important part in the Bedtime Vigil scene. There are just two principal players in this oft-played drama, but I'm still in a role I was neither prepared for nor ever really thought I'd be awarded. I suppose my talent was sufficient - or I was just better than I'd thought - to be in the cast.

Oh, you know the scene. It's the one where the mother sits by the bedside of her son/daughter, holding their hand and brushing her lips over their flushed and fevered cheeks every once in a while. My son has a fever of 103 degrees right now, and when he's been awake with me he hasn't made much sense (there is a spider in the bed, "put that game away!", recitations of random colors, that sort of thing.)

But I don't feel like I fit in this scene correctly. In fact, almost everything is wrong. You see, I've seen depictions of this scene for much of my life: there's a painting-mom, still all Gibsoned up in her white blouse and long narrow skirt, hair upswept with (maybe) two strands artistically falling across her face to show the worry and strain she's been under. There is a candle in the window and the pretty-much-perfect child lies sleeping in their trundle-like bed, the only evidence of illness the bright red bloom on their cheeks (which you're pretty sure would be fairly apple-red-bloomy anyway, only then it's a "healthy bloom".) The only element missing is the Velveteen rabbit, because it's NOT just a story, it belonged to THIS kid. Trust me.

My son is lying on our couch, since that's where he wanted to be. I'm wearing a big T-shirt, flannel pants, and some fuzzy button-down shirt (no, none of this matches.) My hair looks like I rolled around in a static field after not washing it for two days. I have to hide the Tylenol in some ice cream because my child is not as perfectly behaved as the "role model" child - who may have grimaced or made a face but would have been very brave about it and trusted Mummy to have his/her best interest at heart.

Where do I get these silly ideas? I think this one came from some calendar art I've seen over the years. Which means someone actually painted the things at some point, probably starting in the Victorian era, when they were able to romanticize almost anything. That's when Death began to get kind of glittery; heck, the Victorian and Romantic painters and poets turned tuberculosis into a pretty sought-after thing among the young and sighing. The Goth-children of today would love a good dose of tuberculosis, turning all pale and pining away, it would make their black lipstick really stand out.

Still: no matter how I look (or don't look), I know I am playing this role perfectly. There have been times onstage when I've felt on fire in a role, and at one with the audience, as excited as they are to find out what comes next. I do not feel uncomfortable here, and I'm getting the feeling that the women in the paintings didn't look as good as they were made out to be, either. Who wants to paint mom with red bleary eyes, short-tempered with worry, slumped and dozing off? So they were translated to paper and canvas based on their inner spirit.

My inner spirit right now renders on the page a beautiful young mother, stalwart in her duty, tireless in her love, indelibly stamped with beauty at all hours of the night. Her love pours out of her eyes and face; you can see it as plainly as day.

Have you been in the Bedside Vigil scene? If not, perhaps you've been in some other well-knowns: "Father Holds Firstborn", "Grandparents Lovingly Gaze at Generations of Family", "Mother Tearfully Sends Child to College", "Father Gives Away Daughter in Marriage" - you know the scenes, don't you? In case you've ever been tempted to think you didn't play the role up to snuff, you weren't quite "right," you didn't meet some stereotype or cut the right figure - just remember, it's what is inside you that shows on this stage.

It's true. Stop asking yourself if you were good enough, and ask the other players in the scene. You may be surprised at the answer.

Leigh Deacon 2002