Comfort measures

“White blanket.” That was the name of the blanket I used to carry/drag/tote around when I was a child. I never asked, “Where is my blanket?” I said, “Where is white blanket?” (But truth be told, it was seldom white.)

My mother tells me she could wash it only when I slept, so attached was I to the blanket and the comfort it gave me.

Since becoming a hospice chaplain at an inpatient facility, I notice similar things patients bring with them. Maybe not baby blankets, but sometimes framed photos from home. Their own pillow. Art supplies. Sometimes a pet. And why not? These things give comfort in trying times.

The very young and the very old seem to know, instinctively, that it’s the simple things that soothe. The time in between looks like amassing too many things that don’t satisfy. I know this is true for me.

I wonder what I will take to my room in my final days? Certainly it won’t all fit. Better to travel light.

Some days I sure miss white blanket.


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