The Pillow

In one of my earliest childhood memories I am lying upon my mothers lap, nestled against her, with my favorite blanket draped over me.  I remember the fresh scent of her lotioned skin, the muffled voices of my parents having a leisurely conversation, and the lull of the car motor as I drifted off to sleep.  Perhaps we were on a Sunday drive, or moving to another town, as we did both quite often over the years. But at that moment I felt safe and at home.

My pillow and blanket have been a source of comfort and peace my entire life.  I love taking a nap.  I never fought my parents when it was time to rest or go to bed. I decorated my bed with all of my babies and often stacked books around the perimeter, as if to remind myself that my bed was my personal sanctuary.  A place to day dream and sing and of course, sleep.

My dad was in the Air Force. We moved often as a child. Our belongings would get packed up in boxes and sent ahead to our new base. My pillow and my blanket stayed with me.  I knew its scent and texture, and it comforted me during the unknown.  On one such trip when I was about 3 years old, I remember staring out the back window of our car clutching my beloved pillow.  The foam inside was broken down into tiny pieces. My mom had lovingly recovered it at least once in a soft flannel.  As our car was traveling down the highway, I decided to hold my pillow outside the window.  The wind caught the pillow and it flew out of my hands into the traffic behind us.  I watched out the back window in horror as MY pillow lay in the road. I cried out for my dad to stop the car, but it was too late.  I sobbed and sobbed until we stopped at a store to buy a new pillow. It just wasn't the same.

Over time that "new" pillow took on the same scent as my first, and I became fondly attached to it.  It too, broke down into tiny foam bits inside a recovered pillow casing.

The blanket lost its hold on me, but my pillow was my main squeeze.  It traveled with me across the United States a few times, through childhood and my teen years.  When children would make fun of me in elementary school, or a boy didn't notice me in junior high, and later when my parents divorced, my pillow was there to cry on. 

Later, when I moved away from home, got married and was about to deliver our first son, I had my pillow with me.  When my husband left on deployment, I'd put his last worn t-shirt on the pillow and sleep with it until his cologne wore off.  Over time, with the addition of two more children, the pillow became insignificant in the shuffle of life.  Eventually, after being the target of sick children and puppy dogs, it made its way to the trash can.  I didn't need to find solace in that pillow any longer. The hugs of my children and husband were my comfort and joy.

Now in my 40's, and almost an empty nest,  I love to snuggle into my bed at night next to my husband.  As I close my eyes and drift into a lull of sweet peace, I hear him breathing next to me.  I'm often overcome with the same warm fuzzy feeling that I remember while being held in my mothers arms all those years ago.  This is home.

xoxox

Jodi