“I’m up, help me make the bed,” she said. I was surprised given she would probably need a rest in less than an hour, but I did as I was asked and pulled the sheets up and set the pillows right. Why, I wonder, are we doing this? Is this really worth the energy? She must have read my mind because she looked up from fixing the comforter and said, “I make the bed. It’s what I do. It’s my way of telling today I’m here.” There was a precious grace in her conviction and a galaxy of truths in her action.
She, my mother, lost her battle with cancer a little less than a week after we made her bed together.
“Make the bed” has become shorthand for “show up.” It means claim your place in the rhythm of the day. If I indulge too long in whining about something, my husband just has to look at me and say, “make the bed” to set me straight.
When you get up tomorrow morning, will you shift away from the bed and into the world? Will you make the bed?