Other Side of Her Bed


This place is like no otherWhen I fold into myself, I arrive with very little effort. Forever suspended in time, it is the warm and always inviting other side of my mother’s bed.

It is precisely this place that she transformed into a counselor’s couch or a park bench, if you simply opened the blinds. It was a communal prayer alter during times of confession or intercession. For me alone, it remains the deeply penetrating space and time that encapsulates a mother’s love.

Mostly confined by the grasp of a cancer-like disease called Sarcoidosis that went to work, slowly but surely, to diminish her lung capacity, the bed–her bed—became the executive desk by which my mother offered her gifts to the world. Out of necessity but without hesitation, she set up command from her king-sized, cherry wood four poster bed.

Armed with a telephone, a bottle of water, a notepad and the television remote, she ruled the roost as dispatcher, administrative assistant, personal news correspondent, your rush hour road dawg, and the proverbial best friend of many.

While some parents might cancel their calls for the day from their busy office to make time for their beloved children, my mother had her own way of clearing her calendar for me. Laying on her back on the right side of her bed, she would move her left hand in one reverse fell swoop to throw back the comforter/sheet duo like a sail carried on eagles’ wings revealing the still waters of this place waiting to envelope me in total acceptance and unconditional love.

The view from this side of my mother’s bed made everything seem possible. From here, God could, in fact, do anything. Any lack we experienced in the natural was certainly only temporary. The generosity that flowed to me was boundless making my need to share this place with the countless others who phoned in for their portion an understandable sacrifice.

Though I will never again ride shotgun on our way to our secret mother-daughter spa day or have the opportunity to travel the world together in wanderlust, I will always have the other side of the bed.

1 Comment

  • Allen lawrence
    March 7, 2015 at 10:53 pm — Reply

    I do remember, from the other side of the bed she talked me home in rush hour many many days. she was my news source, OJ, 911, Rodney king. A true Twitter before its time.

Leave a Reply