Let Go. I'll Catch You.

Though the agony of the bathroom floor constantly shifting from under him and his inability to catch a full breath between retches made him think that maybe his time had come.

Enduring his own misery was a practiced pastime for Riley, so he had no idea how to react when a hand landed on his back, gently rubbing up and down between his shoulder blades.

The next several minutes were a dizzying blur of his stomach trying to escape through his throat and softly whispered comforts from his Mom, who had situated herself behind his crouched position on the floor.

When it was done, and Riley sat his forehead on his arm, struggling to get air back into his lungs, he barely heard his Mom say that she wanted to get him back to bed.

So much for trying to keep it a secret, Riley chastised himself. But the warm, fuzzy feeling of his Mom taking care of him mostly silenced his dissenting inner-voice.

By the time Riley's Mom had gotten him wrangled into a fresh change of clothes and comfortably laying in her bed, he was exhausted. He was sure that he'd been minimally helpful in changing clothes, as he'd felt more like a heavy sack of potatoes rather than a person, but she didn't complain.

Lying in the king-sized bed under a thick duvet, Riley did feel somewhat better. He wasn't sure if it was from no longer having the sickly tang of vomit in his mouth and being rid of his sweaty clothes that made the difference, or if it was the novelty of someone taking care of him while he was sick. Either way, he was just relieved that he wasn't stuck hunched over a toilet any longer.

As he curled on his side, wrapping his arms around his aching stomach, he saw a garbage can on the floor next to the bed that typically wasn't present. At least he didn't have to worry about extracting himself from blankets and running to the bathroom when his stomach turned on him.

Riley wasn't used to being this comfortable when he was ill. To having water offered to him, a hand on his forehead followed by a thermometer in his ear, blankets tucked tighter around him when a shiver seized his body. And even though he wanted to cringe when she ran her hand through his hair (it has to be so disgusting with how sweaty he was earlier), it felt too good to ask her to stop or leave him alone to his misery.

It was with her fingers carding through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, that Riley's eyes fluttered shut, the exhaustion of the morning winning out.

Inevitably, whatever stomach bug that he felt was killing him reared its ugly head again, waking him from his nap with a daze and not knowing which way was up as he tried to find the garbage can to throw up into.

He was immensely relieved when the garbage can from earlier materialized in front of his face and he could give into the urge to vomit. The same comforting hands and the same tender words made his episode a bit less excruciating.

Growing up, Riley had always convinced himself that he wasn't missing a parent taking care of him when he was sick. What could a parent do to make him feel better that he couldn't do for himself? He could get himself water and wrap his tattered sheets around himself just fine. Medicine was harder to come across when he'd been younger, but again, he'd lived. Having someone there to rub his back and kiss his forehead wouldn't have made a single difference.

And yet, there was a solace that came with knowing that he didn't have to get himself more fluids or risk dehydration. And the consolation that came with having someone there to brush his hair back from his forehead when he was sick? Riley couldn't believe how much calmer her tender care made him.