This may be a silly little thing to be grateful for, but it feels big to me as we shift our lives and perspectives to be ready to welcome my mother in law into our home when it’s time. I’ve tried hard to create a place for her, one that isn’t decorated with our things or full of our stuff, but will accommodate hers, a safe place that might feel to her like one she could someday call home.
In singling out part of our house to make her very own, moving my cushy comfy mattress in and clearing away all the stuff in that room, I inadvertently stole my own safe place. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I really needed the daybed that was there across from my desk. I needed a place where I could go read a book or sit amongst the pillows and write page after page in my notebook, or work on my binder of revisions.
Instead, I had an empty bed frame with all kinds of junk piled on it, and stacks of boxes of things that needed a home. I’ve felt unsettled these past several weeks. Unwelcome to go into my office and do real work on my book. Uneasy.
I finally realized this recently, and was able to express it to my husband. That dear, dear man. He built the framing needed to convert the daybed to its new mattress requirements and now I have my own place back!
Earlier this week, I took a break from writing in the dining room and made up two new beds, one in each room. Then I took a nap in my newly recovered space. Maybe someday I’ll make it more grownup, but right now, I love my mishmash of daughter’s coverlet and stuffed monkey, and my own stuffed chicken and harbor seal.
I feel better each day. I’ve still boxes to go through to finish the work in the office, but I’m doing that, one at a time. I’m making progress. And when it all feels like too much, I can go curl up with a good book, or scribble in my notebook, or snooze in my own place.