4 am.

You know the moment when the night turns from black to midnight blue?

I have always hated that time of day.

It often feels so gloomy and sad that it is almost physically oppressive to me.

I tend to have really intense nightmares. The worst part isn’t that I have them. I could live with that, as much as they can suck. The thing that REALLY frustrates me is that once they appear I am very unlikely to get back to sleep.

Which leaves me alone and staring at the ceiling at 4 am.

When Matthew was alive he ALWAYS woke me up for a feeding around this time. When Butterlump still had night feedings he was pretty much is in a coma by the end of the bottle so his feedings were so quick and effortless I was back in bed asleep before I could overly think about anything.

He was a very easy baby.

My Little Bug was very different.

I saw a lot of 4 ams with Matthew.

We were almost always awake nursing when it happened. The physical urgency of needing to feed him woke me up without fail. It was quite a chore to feed Matthew. He was very fussy and difficult in a lot of ways, though I loved him more then anything in the world. It would take me a long time to feed him and get him back to sleep. We spent MANY hours in the wee smalls rocking and soothing and singing endless lullabies.

When he was he was alive, this time of day simply didn’t bother me. I had a pal, a friend, someone to love on and snuggle and sing to and rock. I loved having his wee little presence keep my heart company in that melancholy atmosphere.

Then he died.

For months and months afterwards, I would often wake up automatically at his feeding time, just as that cold, hard, sad light seeped into my bedroom. It would hurt my heart so much it was physically painful and the only thing I could do is wrap my arms around myself and shake and sob until I was exhausted.

I wished more than anything in those moments that I had a remote control to my life so that I could fast forward past that godawful pain.

Slowly, over time, the nights have gotten easier. For the last several years I’ve had a lot of nocturnal preoccupation of one kind or the other, mainly thanks to ye olde Internet and that crack whore called “Twitter”.

And then Aaron, my wee little Butterlump, was born and the nights got so much easier.

I have had a lot of healing going on the last 7-and-a-half- years. (Wow. Has it really been so long since I’ve seen him? UGH.)

I have the most adorable little toddler snoring in the next room and sucking on his thumb. He is one of the very best blessing of my life and he has healed my heart more then I can describe, and yet right now?

I want my Matthew.

I want my friend.

No one has replaced him.

No one fills this time of the night like he did, not even Aaron.

I’d almost forgotten how lonely four o’clock in the morning can be.

Almost.

Matthew has been gone a long time.

And still…nights like tonight somehow manage to find me.

I think they probably always will.