The Beauty of Familiar

The closet door slides open. In my slumber, I can hear him being as quiet as possible. In my in between state, I’m grateful to be able to sleep just a little bit longer.

I like that place — that place in between asleep and awake where anything is possible. Dreams mesh with the sounds of reality in that place. I hear the coffee pot turn on and the frying pan sizzle, and for a moment, my body is at peace.

Bosco jumps on the bed for his ritual wake up call duties, sniffs my face, bringing me out of the dream world. I snuggle his cute little chops in my hands and congratulate him on succeeding in his wake up call. I stumble out of bed, pulling myself up with the help of the dresser, and he jumps down to follow.

We make our way to the kitchen and I wrap my arms around Sean from behind, snuggling my face into the crevice between his shoulder blades.

“Well hello little lady.”

I mutter back good morning, finding comfort in the nickname that he’s adopted for me. Those two words make me feel petite and loved and classy. I don’t know where or when he started calling me that, but I like it.

He sees me limp around the kitchen and tells me that he can always tell when I’m in pain before I even get out of bed by the way that I am sleeping. When you’re hurting, you lay on your back with your legs propped up on a pillow that I know you brought into the room in the middle of the night when you couldn’t sleep.

Today, I’m going to need my cane in my right hand to help me get around, but I’m okay with that because in my left will be his hand.  After ten years together and twenty years familiar, I know the curves and lines of his hands — and he knows the idiosyncrasies of how I sleep.