After the End: Howl

Three months ago, I got the image of that four year old in the hallway, hopeless. I pictured myself as an adult sitting in the living room. I looked to the hallway, and saw the boy curled up in a fetal position at the edge of the light, the longing shining in his eyes. I invited him to come into living room and sit with me. He got up and ran in to jump onto the couch. But while he was happy, he eyed the door to the hall he'd left.

“Are you afraid of the Wolf?”

“Yes.”

“Well, he can't come in here. Watch.” And I pictured a clear shield going down over the door and the windows and keeping the Wolf out. “Whenever you want to come in here, you can, ok? You're never not allowed to be in here, ever again. And whenever you need that and don't feel safe, we can think up a word that when you say it, I'll know you need to be safe in this space, ok?”

The relief told me it was better than ok.

A few weeks after that conversation, I was in a class and I was having a difficult time of it. I was fighting the urge to flee the class in fear. I scrambled for a tool to help me stay. I'd been using the image of a bear last year. I tried it and it didn't do the trick. And there close at hand was the wolf. I turned my head up and closed my eyes and imagined myself gearing up for a first-class howl. And suddenly there was the safe word echoing within me, loudly.

I pictured the little four year old again. “Erik, go sit in the living room now. Me, I need to spend some time running with the wolf and I know you need to feel safe. So go be safe. I'll be back when class is over.” And he was gone. Inside, I howled. Outside, I ran that class down to ground and sank my teeth in. I rode home that night, fiercely proud, howling still, and this time, the picture of the boy was back, on my shoulders, howling with me.