When Ben’s fan died, he’d just gone upstairs to go to bed. As per usual, he turned on his fan before crawling into bed. This time, however, the fan didn’t blow. The fan didn’t whir. When Ben’s fan died…it died silently. It made a bad smell and that was all.
When Ben’s fan died, he was noticeably upset. As per usual, he stomped around in his frustration, grunting and whining. This time, however, he understood that throwing a fit wouldn’t solve his problem, so he didn’t throw a fit. When Ben’s fan died…he let go of his anger and let himself be comforted and put to bed. I hugged him and kissed him and he accepted that this was the best I could do for the moment.
When Ben’s fan died, I didn’t give up. As per usual, I saw this as an opportunity to show my son that I understood and I cared. This time, however, I couldn’t “fix it” without help. I didn’t go to the store. I placed a call. When Ben’s fan died…his grandma Nonnie provided him with a new fan to use. I drove over to my mom’s house and picked up the freshly cleaned fan and drove right back home.
When Ben’s fan died, he didn’t go without. As per usual, those who loved him understood his needs. This time he needed something that would blow and whir, so he could go to sleep. He got exactly what he needed. When Ben’s fan died…he got a new fan that blew harder and whirred louder than before. He squealed with glee and thanked his Nonnie and his mommy and went back to bed and that was all.
Sleep well, Ben. I love you.