Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

Today was going to be rough, and it didn’t take a Witch to figure out why; just a human being with a heart. I grew up with this guy; changed his diapers and then potty-trained him, gave him the Birds and Bees Talk, showed him how to put on condoms when he confided that he was considering having sex with his girlfriend. I was basically his surrogate mother while his older brother–the love of my life–was his replacement dad. It was wrong for me to see him dying. Sammy was the one who was supposed to bury me. A mother shouldn’t have to bury their child…it’s not…natural…

While driving over to Sam’s house, I went back to the first memory I had of him. He couldn’t have been more than two years old. He begged me to get rid of all the monsters in his room. Dean and I checked all around: under the bed, in the closet…nothing. Ironically, we actually knew what we were looking for, so we knew for a fact we were safe.

After dramatically exhaling of relief, Sammy asked me to sing him his lullaby. This classic rock song was Dean’s favorite, so he offered to sing instead, but Sam wanted my voice. I stuck my tongue out at Dean, and then sat next to Sam. While tucking his covers under the crevices his body made, I said, “Let’s get you all settled in here first. Ok, ready?”

“Yeah!” he said excitedly in his best soprano voice. “Sing it for me!”

I cleared my throat and then sang quietly, “🎵 Carry on my wayward son/There’ll be peace when you are done🎵” (This would be the point where he joins in.) “🎵Lay your weary head to rest/Don’t you cry no more…🎵” Once I finished out the chorus, I kissed the top of his head and whispered, “Sleep tight.”

To which Sammy whispered back, “I’ll see you in the morning light.“

That was our little end-of-night ritual he came up with. He was irrationally afraid of going to sleep and not waking up, so just promising we’d see each other again contained enough power to make it happen. It was a vow not to go in our sleep.

A fear I now had in my heart as I knocked on his door.

His son, Dean, Jr., let me in. I gave him a hug and asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Hanging on,” replied a teary-eyed DJ. “I don’t think he’s got much time left though. Doc says he won’t make it through the night.”

“Ok,” I said with my best comforting smile. “Thanks for calling me.”

“He asked to see you one last time, regardless of what happened last time–“

I didn’t want to think about that, so I had to interject, “I appreciate you making it happen.”

DJ led me into Sam’s room, where his bed was replaced by a gurney. Compared to the baby I first laid eyes on to the elderly man I saw in the present day, I saw he had been through Hell over the years. The burden of everything he saw, and everything he did, was written all over his face like a tattoo of humility and humiliation. As I studied every detail of his face, I fought my hardest to hold back tears. It wasn’t until Sam spoke when I realized he knew I was watching him.

“There she is,” Sam croaked, that strong soprano voice from his youth long gone. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

I sat on his bed and took his hand; a familiar position. I whispered, “Hey, kid…”

“Psh, ‘kid’?” Sam chuckled. “I’m older than you, little lady.”

“You look older than me, but technically, I’m a hundred years older than you, so you’re still ‘kid’ to me.”

“Well…being a Witch has its perks.”

“Right?” I stroked his hand. “How bad is it today?”

Sam let out a weak cough and answered, “Four, so not so bad.” Lie.

“I wish I could help you with the pain.” I couldn’t stand to see him this way. I fumbled around my purse for something. “Like there has to be a spell to–“

“There’s nothing you could do that the drugs aren’t already doing,” Sam promised. “Besides, I didn’t ask you here as a Witch…I wanted you here as my friend.”

Whatever he wanted…this was his night.

“Ok,” I replied, dutifully. “I’m right here.”

Sam winced; confirmation that that “four” was a lie. I know him, so his stoicism was no surprise to me. Ever since we were kids, he didn’t do a very good job at hiding his crush on me. To this day, it was refreshing to see he is still that little boy who wanted to impress me.

“I do have a favor to ask you though,” Sam said.

“Anything, Sammy.”

“Will you sing to me?” The way he looked at me…his eyes had a sadness in them that showed me he knew it was time. There was no Magic telling him this; somehow, his body told him enough was enough, so he listened. “My lullaby?”

For selfish reasons, I was afraid of this. I didn’t know if I was going to make it through just the chorus of this song. I took all the moments Sammy was brave for me: when I had to hold him in my arms while he was getting vaccinated as a baby, when he fell off his bike and was bleeding from his kneecap, when he tried fighting off Lucifer from completely taking over his body. (I know, that escalated quickly, but you get the point.) I summoned up all those moments and tried to match all of his pained courage into my face of feigned fortitude.

I took a deep breath and tucked his blanket underneath the crevices his body made on the bed, and said, “First, we have to make sure you’re all settled in here. Ok…” Again, I selfishly hesitated to make this moment last forever, but I realized the longer I prolonged the inevitable was the longer he’d spend in agony. “You ready?”

“Sing it for me,” Sam whispered as he shut his eyes, prepared to be at eternal peace.

I leaned in closer to his ear and whispered, “I love you so much, and once you’re ready to go, you can let go. Your work is done, Sam. You’ll be reunited with Dad, your mom, Bobby…and best of all…you’ll be with Dean again.” I heard a sob coming from Sam at the final name.

Sam mouthed, “Thank you…”

There was no turning back. The next step was…

“🎵 Carry on my wayward son/There’ll be peace when you are done…🎵”

I waited patiently for him to join in, but was met with more silence.

“🎵Lay your weary head to rest…🎵”

I hadn’t noticed the heart monitor beeping–I suppose I drowned it out–until it emitted this ugly, single note of death. It was evil, interrupting our moment like an off-pitch prima donna, who just wanted her moment in the spotlight. I jumped, not at the volume, but the sheer heaviness of the reality had finally sunk in.

Don’t you cry no more…

I kissed the top of his head and rested my forehead against his. I whispered, finally letting the tears start rolling, “Sleep tight. I’ll see you in another life.”

Carry on.