when i was a ms i didn’t think too much about my bed. sure i wanted an ultra suede tufted headboard and 1000 thread count frette linens with a tasteful amount of throw pillows…but really my bed was just a location. it was a cozy place to crash, a great cushion on which to curl up and read a book, a spot that cradled me when i was sick. but as a mrs, our bed has literally taken on a personality all its own. as a mrs, our bed has become a haven, an oasis, the switzerland of married-land, a pandora bed world of sorts.
mr c and i were watched a movie the other night called “away from her”.
away from her is a moving love story about a man coping with the institutionalization of his wife because of alzheimer's and there is this scene where the camera pans down on this husband and wife lying in bed together on the eve before she leaves and i don’t know why but something about the rumpled sheets... and their two bodies exposed and vulnerable....struck me. the profound intimacy and shared history of two lives boiled down to that moment....encapsulated in and framed by that safety bubble of a bed...it made me a little sniffly. i looked over at mr c and he was a little sniffly too.
so it got me thinking about this place we take for granted. sure we sleep there and we dream there and yes, we playcreate there but the bed is more than that...the bed is this amazing place where we become...defenseless. it's the place where you truly are....who you are.
you are totally you when you slide into bed at night and share a hope or a fear with the person beside you. you are most you when you are makeup less and sick and too weak to go get yourself gatorade. you are you on the most primal level when you are asleep all naked and slack jawed and drooling on your pillow. and you are you when you wake up next to that other naked, slack jawed, drooling human and think they are the most precious thing on the entire planet.
i dream of mr c and i in this room
i flat out love getting into bed with mr c. i love falling asleep on his chest. i love rumi sundays when he reads me poetry in bed. i love waking up and watching him sleep...
because there in that room, in that bed.....he is who he is. i am who i am and our bed...
well, our bed just is.
nighty night- mrs m