July 29th, 2025
Our young grandson, Asher, is a restless sleeper. He’s only four-and-a-half years old, but he has already seen more than his fair share of trauma. He sleeps in my bed. I don’t necessarily want him with me, but he can’t go to sleep unless I hold him. When he is tired, Asher crawls into the bed and nestles in the crux of my left arm. It takes him only moments to doze off once he is comfortable there. He doesn’t want me to cuddle with him. He just wants to be held in my arm.
Lately, Asher has been waking up in the middle of the night. He likes to sleep crosswise in the bed, which means I have little or no room. Last night, around 3:00 AM, he woke up and looked at me. He said,
“Grandpa, give me your arm.”
I did.
He touched my arm and found his sweet spot on my bicep. Asher fluffed it up like a pillow. Then he rested his head on my arm. He grasped my arm with both hands and held on tight. Slowly, gradually, he relaxed. After a few minutes, he calmed down and his breathing grew quiet. Then he was asleep, still holding onto my arm.
I waited half an hour, and then I carefully wrested my arm from under his round head. Asher slept on. I got up to take a piss.
This morning, I took Asher to the playground early. We stayed there until it got too hot for him to play anymore. Then he wanted to go to the library.
We drove to the library. Asher drank a smoothie in the back seat. When we got close, Asher told me,
“I can see the library! We are almost there!”
I replied, “I know.”
“Grandpa, we are there. We can park the car.”
“Yeah.”
After I parked, Asher got out of his child seat and climbed out of the car.
He said, “Give me your arm.”
I said, “I have to lock the car.”
I did. Then we walked toward the entrance of the library.
Asher grasped my right hand. I squeezed his little hand in mine.
He told me, “I’m only holding on to your pinkie.”
I told him, “That’s good enough.”
Frank is Emptiness 