Lullaby

I understand the value of what it means when people love you.

I’m sitting here safe for another month in my apartment. I’m sitting at my desk, I have a pile of knitting to one side and a collection of books I’m always skimming through on the other. I don’t have to pack them all up.

No, instead of packing, I vacuumed. I dusted the blinds. I washed dishes and took a scrub brush to the outside of the fridge. I get to stay here. I want to take care of it and respect it.

I’m about to have a sandwich for dinner. I’ll knit a few more rounds of another teddy bear while watching “Murder, She Wrote,” then probably head to bed. The sheets were washed today. The bed was made. It is crisp and clean and waiting for me. There is no better night sleep than one cocooned in clean cotton.

I’ll grab a soft pillow for my head. I’ll grab a firmer pillow to cling to all night. Despite which ever way I toss and turn, that firm pillow I clutch follows me close to my chest all night long. After settling in, a cat or two will come sandbag themselves against me. I’ll adjust my leg to find the “cool” spot under the sheets….

My husband will be close to my side. The covers will slowly heave as his big lungs breathe, and his chest will rise and fall like a slow and lulling tide.

And like the end of a lullaby, everything is quiet, everyone is safe. We get to sleep in our home in peace.

I owe all of you my deepest gratitude.

Thank you.

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