when we traveled into the night to come and visit his mother, i prepared for trouble.
she and i struggled to understand each other and we both knew it should be easier.
there were smiles and hugs and meals. time itself helped. but there was one thing that spoke loudest to my frowning heart.
i’ve never slept well.
too many nights with brains spinning scattered with a few nights unsafe in my bed turned me into a bonafide insomniac by the time i was thirteen.
travel doesn’t help.
my mother-in-law had set up the guest room and i really can’t explain it. a twin trundle bed that popped up another twin mattress in a metal frame. the sheets were worn and soft with the time of tucking in well-loved children. there were mismatched blankets folded at the foot.
when i laid down in my husband’s mother’s house there was no trouble.
there was peace.
mazzy is talking to us tonight around the dinner table eleven years later.
“the snow up here is like a blanket. and it covers. it covers the grass and the house. it tucks us in.”
a poet’s metaphor.
i am so thankful to have been wrong.
i have expected trouble all my life and instead have been tucked in with deep peace like all the snow up north.