A couple days ago I finally figured out, to my satisfaction, anyway, the attraction for me of sleeping on the couch in the living room. When I settle onto the couch for sleep, because the couch (left folded as a couch, not opened into full futon position) has a back as well as a "bed" and because it is located in the part of the house in which the majority of Mom's and my living took place, I feel as though I am being embraced by the couch and by this home when I sleep on it. In addition, the couch affords far less room for sleep than my bedding; thus, the cats, who always sleep with me, sleep either on top of me or so close to me that it is hard to tell where I end and a cat begins. They become a part of the embrace I seem to need, right now, as I sleep. Physically, sleeping on my bed, either in my room or in the living room, is far more comfortable for me and allows for a much more restful sleep. After one or two nights of those arrangements, though, I find myself migrating back to the couch. Perhaps, in the weeks to come, I will find my need for a physically restful sleep more important than a need to be comforted while I sleep. In the meantime, though, the couch, in the living room, with the cats, provides me with what I really need when I sleep: A sense of being protected and nurtured during what feels like this onslaught of mortality.
