A pyre was touched off this morning…the last request from my favorite down pillow.
A true member of my family for three generations—my grandmother, my mother and finally me—the pillow was never given a name but kept in In tip-top showroom floor condition, ‘Mint!’, until it was gifted to me.
The pillow, in recent years, became an integral part of daily life. Often covering my head, muffling the outer world, sending me into the deepest of sleep…though usually only after the morning’s alarm had come and gone—I, rising from the dead like a boat anchor from the deepest northern sea.
Publicly it was a model relationship though privately abuse was rampant: punching, twisting, flattening, rolling, bunching…and the drool…truly a shocking amount of abuse and a stain on the family name.
The pillow, in its last year, could no longer hide an eminent demise. The fully-fluffed 850+ down fill reduced to quills alone. Deepening wrinkles and progressive anemia finally ended in a lumpy, emaciated, almost curdled texture. Life was gone…tears shed.
This life transition will be difficult in the coming days—much like boxers to briefs.