Lambie is my pillow.  He is white, made of real lamb fur and smells like—well, a lamb.  Moreover, he’s very fluffy and soft and huggable.     Lambie’s not the only pillow I’ve loved.  Hugs was likewise white and soft and fluffy.  Hugs died when the girls took scissors to him.   He was a pillow but I was truly heartbroken over his demise.  I thought I’d never have such a friend as Hugs.  But, turns out, Lambie shares many of the characteristics of Hugs:  he’s a great listener, he’s fun to throw up in the air and catch,  he doesn’t mind when I squeeze him tightly, he holds my tears, lets me snuggle my head into his softness while I read favorite scenes a million times from beloved books and, overall, makes me feel just a little bit safer than I do without him near.

 

That’s right,  safe.

 

Pillows have made me feel safe all my life.   When I was young, I couldn’t sleep unless I had one under my head and one on either side of me.  With the one at my back, and the one in my arms, I felt sheltered;  maybe even a little crowded.  There wasn’t room on either side of me for anything bad.   I’d grab one and stick it in my lap, using it as a desk to write upon.   The softness of a pillow comforted me when we were in the back of a car, riding to some unknown destination.    Lambie is soft and laying my head upon something that soft makes me feel cared for, comforted and okay.    Maybe it’s silly for a grown woman to cry when she gets a pillow as a gift.  Maybe it’s silly to feel uneasy trying to sleep without three of them.   Maybe it’s silly to write an entire entry of gratitude for a pillow.    But life is hard.  I allow myself very few luxuries.   I take a bi-weekly bubble bath with candles, I write and I happily enjoy my Cokes.  Pillows offer me softness and sweetness and something to hold when I am alone.   Hugs and Lambie have been with me for major,  major life events:  they’ve seen me cry and laugh.  They’ve been involved in pillow fights and used as thrones for tea parties.  When I am happy, I know I can rest my head on Lambie, or wrap my arms around him, and revel in the joyful moments.  When I am sad, I know I can find comfort by burying my face in it and letting the tears fall.   The truth is, I need something soft, warm  in my life.  The truth is, sometimes it’s hard being the one on whom others depend.  The truth is, sometimes I want to feel safe and protected.   The truth is, sometimes I want to feel feminine and princess-ey too.  The truth is, sometimes I need a reason to seek rest.   The truth is,  sometimes I need a security blanket just as much as the toddler next door.    The truth is, we all have (or should) that something extra in our lives that gives us an added boost of comfort, whether it be a lucky cap or a special place in which to withdraw.   My pillows are that something extra for me.

 

 

Thank you, Lambie (and also Hugs),  for being there when I’ve needed you.  Thank you for absorbing my tears.  Thank you for not falling apart when, in joy, I’ve thrown you up in the air.   You’ve been grabbed carelessly by a couple hurried fingers and pulled all over the house.  Thank you.  You’ve been sat upon;  you’ve been squeezed tight.  I’ve curled a finger around your lamb hairs a couple of times too.  You’ve been used when I’ve been sick.  You’ve been carelessly thrown into the car to go to the hospital.  You’ve been lost beneath the bed all day.  You’ve fallen off the bed only to have me yank you back up half a dozen times in one night.  You’ve seen, and felt, the real me.   Yet you still feel soft and fluffy,  you still add elegance and beauty to my home and life.  In short, you’ve been a friend, one that I’ve not always recognized.    When I see you lying on the couch, or the bed, during the day,  I smile.     Maybe it’s a little childish, this love I have for you, and yet I find myself filled with childlike happiness that you’re here.   I remember calling hotel front desks and asking for more of you as a teenager.   I remember the security I found in the first body-length pillow I hugged.  I remember holding you in my lap as I wrote book after book.  I remember how soothing it was to lie down on Hugs and feel enveloped with softness and warmth.   They say it’s the little things in life that give us the greatest peace, comfort and security;  I say that anything that offers as much as you is monumental in its significance to our lives.   I’ll give you an extra squeeze tonight,  not from sadness or random joy but from a heart full of gratitude.