Who Needs Sleep?

A few nights ago, I was awake.
This is part of "the new normal" for me. The insomnia that plagued me once upon a time now resurfaces with a vengeance to let me know that there are things in this life that are out of my control. Yes, it does occur to me just how ironic anyone who read that last sentence will find the my use of the word "plague." For now, let's just imagine that it's a side effect of this virus. Value-added, if you will.
I was thinking about my son. I have done a lot of this over the past month and a half. I have probably checked in with him more often in the past six weeks than I have since he left for college. There was a time when I worried that he might not make it there. Living away from the only home he's known for his entire life seemed like an enormous challenge.
As it turns out, he was up for it. His academic struggles mirrored many of my own during his time at sleep-away school. He toughed it out and learned how to motivate himself and eventually brought home A's and B's.
Home. There it is again. That place where you leave your stuff. Where your heart is. The relative freedom of living under one's own roof cannot be overemphasized here. On recent visits, we have been reminded how much our son's rhythms are now his own. His parents are old and creep off to bed at what they consider a reasonable hour. His life continues on into the wee hours via texts and tweets and streaming media. We are relieved that he camps out in the back of the house, where he can relax in his own version of night and day.
Which is a little like the way things used to be. A very long time ago, he would wake up crying and I would go into his room. I would pick him up and carry him around in the darkness. He was much more portable as a baby than he is now. I would walk to the windows in the back room and show him the world in slumber. I reminded him that the birds had gone to sleep. The neighbors had gone to sleep. His mother was asleep in our room. That's what we do now. We sleep.
It only occurs to me now that those late night strolls were as soothing for me as they were for him. Saying all those comforting things made me relax into the role of daddy. I could leave behind my own cares and focus on the ones of my little boy. Now I look out those same windows and remind myself that everyone else is asleep.
Except maybe my son. He's probably awake playing video games with other young folks who are riding out this peculiar storm.
The birds are asleep. The neighbors are asleep. I will be too. But not right now.