It’s 4am. I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about you. I wish sometimes that I could forget that July night.
You never knew, but I didn’t wear pajamas to bed since I was 17. The night you were attacked was one of the rare occasions that I did.
Now I wear them every night. I’m afraid someone will need me at 2am… and I won’t be prepared. I guess my false sense of security is gone.
Sleeping before 2am is difficult. I keep thinking I should have heard you come in that early morning. I’m keeping vigil over the ones I love. Listening to them snore.
I miss you, son. I miss that belief I could protect you from all harm.
Four years later, I still wait up for you.
I love you.