I rolled onto your side of the bed last night. It was cold, empty. Why I still think of it as your side of the bed, I don’t know.
This isn’t your bed. You never occupied any side of this bed. Even now I’m looking at the space beside me, the blankets ruffled, the green sheets exposed and I can’t imagine your frame stretched beside me. Your slim body and scabbed up elbows and scarred knees. Your damp pillow.
For 14 years, this was my side and that was your side. Our giant bed with a ridge down the middle identifying two distinct spaces.
And while you’ve never been in this bed--or even this room in my little house--here you are, taking up space. If anything, it is Carter’s side of the bed or Riley’s side of the bed. It’s where they climb in on the mornings that they sleep at my house. Their little bodies, their pointy elbows and sharp knees.
Tonight will be different. I will close my eyes over there. I will sleep on that side. I will begin to dream from a new perspective. I will reclaim that space as my own.