Sleeping near the Heart

Assuming there is no sudden heatwave to show up and ruin my plans, I should be returning my mattress and myself to my room tomorrow. I'm really looking forward to this. It feels like it's been forever. I feel displaced in my own home.

I am, however, very thankful for the living room welcoming me and allowing me to use it as a sleeping room. Somehow I suspect that's a tad below the dignity of a living room. However, I suppose in this case, the living room is used to it.

When I was a freshman in college, my grandfather was in the last stages of a battle against emphysema. I opted to commute my second semester because I knew I was needed at home. He took care of all most all of the outside activities. My grandmother hadn't shopped in years, had possibly never paid a bill. Though, to be honest, I'm not sure if that's true. It's what she told me, but I think maybe she let herself forget.

When he died, she moved into the living room and began sleeping on a love seat.  It had no sides, so she pulled an ottoman over to her to keep her feet from hanging off the edge. She would sleep on her side, with her hands clasp together under her chin, as if in prayer.

When my second year began, I moved back to the college town with my best friend. Gran continued to sleep in the living room. She would keep sheets neatly folded on the top of the love seat, a pillow to one side.  Every night, she would unfold the sheets and transform the couch to a bed. Every morning, they would be refolded and replaced on the back.

The strange thing is, it had been years since my grandmother even slept in the same bed as my grandfather. As long as I could remember, they slept in separate rooms, as far away from each other as possible. The only time they were in the same bed was when they had guests and there was no room otherwise.  You could tell they were uncomfortable with it.

You never know what grief will do to you though. You never understand the patterns it will change or create, the way the deeper parts of your mind will find logic in things that, perhaps, the rest of your mind doesn't even comprehend.  Gran didn't know why she needed to sleep in the living room, but she did.

And I'm not even sure at what point she shopped.  All I know is that one weekend I came home and she was in the bedroom now.  Interestingly, it was the bedroom where my grandfather used to sleep. Now it was hers and would remain hers until the moment of her death. Actually, even a few hours after that.

I think my grandmother found comfort in sleeping in the living room. I think she felt it was the heart of the house and it was certainly the hearth of the house.  I think she needed to be in here to reclaim the home as hers.  Whatever the case, it seems to have worked.

And I understand. The living room has been my haven in this nasty heat.  It's keep me as comfortable as possible and like I said, I'm very grateful for that. Thank you, living room, for all the rest you've provided for me and mind. *kisses*