Moments that kill

Just now my kids fell alseep. Half an hour ago Alysha wasn't feeling too well, so I was holding her, much to the trauma of Keith who desperately wanted to cuddle with me. He whined and cried and then it turned into those aching sobs. I told him I would cuddle with him once Alysha falls asleep, which is sort of our nocturnal promise. Still he cried. Oh god when will they just fall alseep it's 11 for crying out loud! Then he was quiet. I thought he was alseep.
I finally put Alysha down, and turned to clean my room, finally! Suddenly I hear a heartbroken moan arising from the bed and there's Keith all awash in tears.

"Why didn't you come and cuddle with me?"
"I'm so sorry, I thought you were asleep."
"But didn't you want to cuddle with me even if I was alseep?"
Uhhh, hmmm. How to answer this one...nope, I'm the loser here. So I climb in bed with him, and try to calm his sobs. I was frustrated at first, but by this time I am realizing that this isn't an everyday whine, but his little heart is actually breaking.
So we pray. We cuddle and we talk. About the day. About what makes us happy. About what makes us sad. It was a good talk.

He says, "Mommy, but when do you cry?"
"Uhh, I cry sometimes when I'm really tired and frustrated." Sometimes.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Also sometimes when I make a lot of mistakes and I get discouraged." I am hoping this is the last answer I have to give. He's getting too close to what I don't want to say.
"Oh yeah. Me too." He understands so well.
"When else, Mommy?" oh dear.
Uhh, should I be honest? He's caught me off guard. He's four and I feel like he's prying into my very heart. Why is this so hard to say?
"Well," I say slowly, "sometimes I cry when I feel lonely."
He says understandingly, "Me too...like tonight. That's the saddest. When I'm lonely."

Ohhh, ouch. How could I ever have allowed or even caused the tragedy of loneliness in my own little family? He understands too well. Those sobs earlier could've well been my own, his pain the same as what I have felt when I felt so alone. Aren't we supposed to protect our babies from that?
"But we don't need to be lonely because Jesus is always with us. Right Mommy?", he asks and looks at me for a moment to make sure.
"Right. You're so smart. How'd you get so smart?"
He giggles, feeling smug. Feeling safe and not lonely.
Whewf.

"I love you, Mommy."
"I love you, Keith."
Everything's better now. The world has been fixed because he knows I love him, and Jesus is always with him.
And he's off on a first class coach to dreamland.
Me, I could've died.
At least he's getting that when I fail him (daily), Jesus is always there for him.
At least he's getting that straight.
Right?