It’s that time again, Five Minute Friday! The time of week when I join up with Lisa-Jo Baker and some pretty incredible women, who write a post on a one word prompt. Here’s the beauty of it: you only get five minutes, and no editing, cutting or deleting allowed! That’s right, 5 minutes of pure writing. And the other great thing-you get to encourage other women! That’s right, after you link up your post, you get to comb through other blogs and spread the encouragement. So here we are, and the word of the week is: Comfort
I remember the carpet, it was an old red and yellow Berber with brown flecks. I remember the dresser. It was brown and tall, with faux mother of pearl handles. I remember the small, four leg black bedside table with the alarm clock and dim lamp, but most of all, I remember giggling. When I was little my grandma lived with us for a few years, and miraculously, on nights when I couldn’t sleep or had a bad dream and would head to the comfort of my parent’s bed, grandma’s light would always be on. So I would tiptoe down the dark hallway, past the bathroom and across from mom and daddy’s room, and ease open the door to grandma’s room.
She would look up from her Bible or Reader’s Digest and her baby blue eyes would twinkle at me over the silver rims of her glasses. She’d throw back the quilt and usher me in, under the covers and into the comfort of her small bed. The smell of Avon perfume would wisp from her nightgown, and her dentures would grin at me from the cup of water on the nightstand. Then the magic would begin. She would start telling me stories, and regale me with tales of my grandpa, whom I never met, and how his baritone snore would keep her awake at night. And she’d always provide an example, filling the room with a roar of monumentous proportion and echoing with my laughter. And she’d bet I couldn’t do one louder. Challenge accepted. We’d laugh and snore the night away, until the bad dreams were long forgotten, and my restless mind was set to ease.
It wasn’t long after those nights that the Alzheimer’s began to fully set in. In a matter of months she would forget who we were, who I was, and most of all-who she was. But those memories, and the comfort found in that room at the end of the hall, will always be mine. And deep down, I know that in her heart of hearts, she remembered too.