The Safest Place
I’ve always thought of my bed as my sanctuary. It’s the place to which I retreat when I am sick, exhausted, sad, or furious.
When the children invade my bed in the middle of the night, I grow territorial. This is my bed. I don’t care who your mother is.
But in the wee hours of the morning, when my brain is thick with the cotton of sleep, and the children shuffle into my bedroom and monkey climb up into my tangle of sheets and blankets, and snuggle their pointy little bodies close to mine, and I hug them to me, grateful for their safety and health, all is right. No matter what drama or sadness gathers in the atmosphere outside my bed, the little people for whom I am responsible are content, and endlessly loved. No matter what happens to them in the future, for this moment, we are all safe.