My bedside table is very special to me. It is a nightstand and bookcase. Seeking out the perfect black bedroom furniture, I had it custom made by a woodworker. A distressed worn look with an underlying red underneath that peeks where the black stain is randomly wiped away.
This bedside table is my friend on lazy Saturday mornings (like today) when I am in bed longer...sitting up. It holds my coffee, my phone, a light, my meds...my glasses when I sleep. Sometimes it has books on it but most of my reading books are on the bookshelves (a pair, one on each side of the bed) or in my tote. It also has some of Arthur’s hair noticeably against the black base...signs of how much time I spend here.
My bedside table has been with me through my single years and since I married Ed. It has heard numerous conversations and prayers. It has seen Ed and I hold each other and make love. It has seen me sick and seen me sad. It never complains when it has to hold my snotty tissues.
My bedside table has seen me change Noah...Elijah...and Gabriel. It has watched me and one of my grandsons lay on top of the bed watching movies (Elijah loved the Chronicles of Narnia – The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe).
My bedside table has heard the many birds outside my bedroom window...where the feeders welcome them. It has noticed the cycle of the changing dull color of the goldfinches evolve to a brilliant yellow as spring arrives. It also witnessed the possum that tried to invade the birdseed in the middle of the night.
My bedside table experiences my life with me and knows me so well. Often as I lay my head next on my pillow, I believe it can hear the thoughts in my head...my worries, my fears, my gratitude, my randomness, my happiness, my glee, my prayers.
It really deserves better care and more dusting. But it never complains. My bedside table – a faithful friend.