A queen’s bed

Some years back when James and I had purchased our lakeside dream home, we decided to splurge on a new bedroom set.

When he met me, I was still using the dresser my parents had bought for me when I was in high school, and then we used his late parent’s set. It was one of those blonde wood sets, and not really my taste. Our new set was very ornate: think Italian Renaissance/bordello. I liked to think even the very picky Borgias would have approved! And since it took a few years to pay off, I was not going to part with it easily once I moved.

Fast forward to my new life here in Virginia where I have a much smaller house. When the movers delivered my bedroom set from the storage unit, it quickly became apparent my king-sized bed, with the lush leather padded headboard, would not fit up the narrow stairs of my foursquare, never mind in my tiny new bedroom.


So I found myself shopping for a queen mattress set. I settled on a simple bed frame – not ornate but that was OK in my new world order where “bordello” or anything even remotely sexy in connotation would never be the order of the day. I managed to get the other bedroom pieces crammed into my room and into the guest room. Sometimes, the fecund lushness of the pieces seem to mock my solitary existence, but screw it.

As I was laying in bed this morning, I was thinking about how I went from a king to a queen – thanks to my husband’s untimely death (is there a timely one?). No longer do I roll over to see my husband, already awake and smiling at me (not sure if that was due to fondness…my snoring or both).

So this morning as I am want to do, I shed a few tears thinking about where my life has brought me since he died. My rational mind nibbles at me like a rat: “You are a lucky girl!” Lucky to have a nice home in a wonderful new town. Lucky to have family nearby. Lucky to be starting a new job next week, after almost a year of unemployment.

But my emotions (I see these as a soft, fuzzy hamster) keep me pining for that king bed and the life it once represented as a married woman. A person who used to wake up with the self-satisfied assurance that she would not be alone. Never alone.


6 thoughts on “A queen’s bed

  1. The lady next to my Mom recently lost her husband and now (per the apartment law) has to downsize to a one bedroom. I talked with her a bit and told her that her grief was hers to feel and no one’s to judge. I felt for her….having to pack up and move across the complex whether she was ready or not.
    I love you. ❤️

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Dear Martha,
    It’s been some time now since I read your post, A Queen’s Bed, but I think of it often. It deserved a response more than merely a “Like” or something similar. The truth is, no matter how often I thought of it or of how you must feel, I didn’t know how to respond.
    The grief of death is one of those sneaky buggers that either constantly stay at our side or that come creeping up at our most vulnerable moments – late night or early morn – to invade our peace or seep past what has become a numbness. It is ours, uniquely ours, since no one else has felt what we felt for the one that is…missing. Truthfully, I don’t want to even imagine what it is like.
    Each of us, if lucky, can love and be loved several times and in different ways. But, there is always one great, true love. And, with that person, it is a love that is : Forever, Always and Beyond.


    1. Bill,
      That is one of the most profound and eloquent things anyone has ever said to me. Your words mean more than you know.
      Thank you so much for your empathy and support. I hope you and The Redhead are finally enjoying your home (or will soon)!
      Warm regards,


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