My mom and I didn’t have traditional sleepovers. But there are some pretty strong memories of time shared in beds or at bedsides. I remember being a small child and climbing in between she and dad, under the covers. Early mornings flopping on her bed as she did a crossword or logic problem. There is an intimacy about beds, even from a platonic or familial stance.

This week I’ve been flooded by memories of seeing her, and being with her at the bedside of GVS. That was a LONG 5 months, but I’m so thankful for the intentional time it gave us. Even though in the moment it was stressful and draining and, at points, pretty gross. I loved being able to be “us”. We didn’t always get that time in the years after I moved out. But it is, and was, precious time indeed.