I believe that my bed is the place where I have learned life’s most important lessons.
My bed is the place that I hid in as a child, to get away from an angry father and it is the same place that my mother sat on the edge of to comfort me; that lesson was that my parents weren’t perfect but they loved me. It’s the place where my new puppy, exhausted from crying in her crate, took in quiet refuge beneath the covers, by my feet. My bed is the place where I laid with husband, while he laid his hands on my belly, waiting for our baby to move. My bed is the place where I laid my newborn daughter next to me to nurse, and to just watch her breathe and be in awe of her. It is the place that stopped being just my bed and became the “family bed”. It is the same place that years later, I laid alone, after the failure of my marriage; the empty bed reminded me that I am not perfect, and it taught me that sleeping along by choice was a feat of courage and independence. My bed is the place that I returned home to after numerous treatments and surgeries for cancer, to rest and recover. It’s the place where my baldhead touched the cold pillowcase and I learned that hair is really just a way to keep us warm. My bed is the place that I laid in for 10 weeks after major surgeries and complications, while the people that loved me the most tended to my every need, while I could not. My bed is the place where I snuggled with my daughter who was right between being a child and a woman. It’s the place where we talked about life, sex and other intimacies that most mothers and daughters would rather avoid.
My bed is the place where I do not feel guilty for sneaking a nap, or eating a cookie and drinking a glass of ice-cold milk. It’s the place that is perfect for reading books or the day’s mail. It’s the place that I welcomed my new husband, and the place that I look forward to crawling into each night. Depending on the day, my bed is the place that I either cannot wait to get up from or the place that I cannot bear to leave. It’s the place that I want to stay in on Saturday mornings, carelessly wasting time. It’s the place that on Sunday mornings causes me to struggle – should I stay tucked in or get up and go to church? My bed isn’t fancy or valuable, and most days, it remains unmade. My bed is the place where I grew up and where I will grow old, learning along the way.
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