When I was a little girl, my mama would tuck me in at bedtime with kisses to hold in my hand through the night, to keep me safe. Hand-kisses. Like a knight-of-the-round-table’s shield, when bad dreams would awaken me or the eerie whistle of a distant train would sound making me feel small and alone in the dark, those sweet gifts clutched tight in my little fists were promises that I was not by myself. Promises, that if I needed her, my mama would be right there.