His side of the bed
It’s always better on his side of the bed
Every night like school children we find ourselves in our self-allocated spots like creatures of habit
Yet throughout the night we gravitate inward and outward harmoniously without thought, without instruction.
Usually I “go to work” first.
Reluctantly leaving the bed and slipping away to my living room office.
About an hour later like clockwork he comes to find me.
Home is home because we’re together.
There is nothing to get tired of, nothing to wish away
Home with us is gratitude for safety, good health, and paying jobs.
After 6 months of uninterrupted time at home he went to work.
His alarm going off on a weekend startle me
He goes to shower and I begin to reflect on old early morning routines I don’t wish to return to.
Acknowledging his absence, I lay diagonally in bed taking up both sides.
Rejecting my own pillow, I rest my head on his.
I roll left and right finding the right position that provides comfort and just enough of his scent
As I fall in and out of sleep, I listen for him and check the time ensuring he’s not late
I holler out reminders for him to eat and pack a snack
I listen for cabinet doors, open and shut
I hear his keys clip onto his belt loop
I hear his computer ding asleep
I hear his backpack zip and the thud it makes in the echoing entry way
The high pitch tones of the alarm — “disarmed.”
Then I hear his footsteps return to the bedroom where he left me
I get my goodbye kiss and he leaves in God’s grace.
Doors open, chimes, rustling of materials and keys
Doors shut, locks engaged, car doors beep.
The high pitch tones of the alarm — “home and armed.”
I miss him already
I know I won’t sleep
But I lie there and allow myself to rest
Comfortable, thankful, and supported by his lingering scent.
