Comfort - able

I'm doing a study on Attachment Theories and Love Styles.  And yes, I totally embrace the nerdiness of that.
Anyway, part of the study was to think about a time you were comforted as a child...who comforted you and how they did it.
And like I always do, I applied this to my children as well.
I asked each of them to think of a time they had been comforted.
Both of them easily came up with times...that involved their Dad.  Granted, he is large and comforting and makes people feel safe when he's got those big guns wrapped around you.  But what was I?? Chopped liver?  Oh they eventually got around to saying that I always seemed to understand their feelings and allowed them to be sad, mad, or whatever they were feeling.  That's a good thing, right?  I comforted myself by saying that maybe my "comforting" was just so EVER-PRESENT that they didn't realize what it was. You know, like taking the air for granted as you breathe.  It's a theory.
But then, Parker got the stomach flu.
He spent lots of time in the bathroom between bouts of restless sleep.
I went to town for medicine.
And then I got this text from him.
"Will you come lay with me when you get back?"
And of course I did.  I lay on top of his blankets and tried not to breathe his infected air.  I followed him to the bathroom and patted his back and gave him a fresh cold washcloth to wipe his face.  I prayed.
After a while, I started to rub his head.  But I wasn't sure if this would help or make it worse.  I don't like to be touched when I'm sick.  So I asked him if that's what he wanted.  He mumbled, "Yes.  It helps."
And then he added, "These are the times I feel comforted by you."
I smiled in the dark.
And I was the one who was comforted.