I felt a little dizzy when I entered the mattress store.
At this stage of my life, there are not many things that I have not done alone, but buying a bed was one. I supposed that the last bed that my late husband and I bought together would be my last bed. Then the fire and the wind storm teamed up to change things.
“You have been approved for a new bed,” my insurance expert told me after checking the possible damage to my old one. “Great,” I replied, having no idea what I was going to.
“What kind of bed should I buy?” I asked George during our night conversations that started when he died six years ago.
“It should be easy,” he said, “you no longer have to worry about me; just buy a bed that makes you happy.” During our last mattresses, George had cozé with a very firm mattress and fell asleep on it in the exhibition hall.
“I think it means he wants this bed,” said the seller with ironie.
“But it’s so difficult,” I cried. He assured me that they would repair me with a topper of mattresses that would soften things. Before we know, we were signed, sealed and planned for delivery the next day.
That night, I felt like I was sleeping on rocks. We had been assured that you have to give a little time to bed to be broken before feeling all his joy.
The only thing that seemed broken after several days of sleep was my back. George and I transformed into babies. He was sleeping like one, and I cried like one.
“This bed is everything for me,” I told Jennie, my sleep expert at the mattress company, which, it turned out, deserved its title very.
She jumped on board. “I guess you liked your bed softer and your husband preferred firmer.”
“Is there one thing like an extra-soft mattress?” I asked. At the next hour, I did more exercise, jump in and out of the beds, which I have had for months, or maybe ever.
We finally determined that the extra soft was actually too soft for me. In the end, I truck in the middle, which turned out to be my Nirvana.
Jennie never missed a beat while walking back so that she can face me while answering my endless questions. At one point, when I lacked energy, I placed myself on the nearest bed, not even wondering if it was a means.
“I just have to put my legs for a few minutes,” I confessed.
“Of course,” she said by pressing a button on the adjustable bed base, which sent my legs in 0 gravity paradise. Then she said the magic words. “The bed you have selected comes with this base.”
I followed George’s advice. I bought a bed that made me happy.
E-mail patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her on Patriciabunin.com
Originally published:
California Daily Newspapers
