Emence

This morning M and I were completing his morning routine, the one we do each morning, in preparation for school.  The steps and the dialogue of the morning vary little.  M was seated in the bathroom as I was putting the finishing touches on his hair.  He is quite particular for a seven year old boy.  He likes his hair gelled and spiked and sprayed.  He'll usually watch his reflection carefully in the mirror, inspecting my work as I go.  Sometimes he sits quietly and lets me work.  Other times he is a bossy pain in the butt and instructs me with every pass of the comb.

This morning M was more pensive and serious.  He stopped me during his coiffing and looked me straight in the eyes.  M doesn't often make direct eye contact and I was taken aback.
"Emence come." he told me in a somber voice.
I can usually understand everything M say, but I was lost on this. Ememce?  What was 'emence'?
"I didn't get that.  Say that again, bud"
"Emence.  Ememce come."
"Ememce?  Do you mean, 'M&M's?"  (Which happen to be one of M's favorite things.)
"No.  Emence.  Emence come get me and take me to house-pital."
"Ambulance?"
"Yes."

M's brown eyes widened and began to brim with tears.
"Emence come get me.  Bring me to the house-pital.  Doctor weared blue goves."

M was referring to the day this past December when he had his first grand-mal seizure.  I had called 911 and M was taken to the hospital by ambulance.  Until now, he'd never spoken of it.   M rarely talks about any event that has happened in the past unless prompted to do so.  I was quite shocked that he'd brought it up and even more so to see the intense emotion it was bringing forth.

"Yes, M, the ambulance did come and it took you to the hospital.  That was a scary day, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Mama.  I so mitmenned."
"Mitmenned?"
M demonstrated by hugging his arms tight around his body and trembling.  He widened his eyes and made an exaggerated fearful face.
"Mitmenned" he said again.
"Frightened?"
M's voice softened and his eyes lowered to the floor.  He nodded and a single tear slipped over the edge of his eye and slid down his cheek.
"Yes, Mama.  I so really, really mitmenned."

At times I take for granted how much M understands and I am left to wonder how much more M has to tell me; what things he needs to say.

I wonder how much I miss.  I wonder how that makes him feel.