A few weeks ago, I received an amazing homemade blanket as a gift from a yoga student. It is fuzzy and fleecy and warm, and has just enough weight to make it possibly the coziest blanket ever.

Everyone in the house wants to claim it as their own. Shannon seems to think that she’s bringing it back to her dorm with her after break.

When I do get the chance to get under it, I don’t want to move. ‘Can you go get me a glass of water, please? I can’t get up, because I’m under the blanket.’

Ohh, the softness of it. The warmth. The weight. I wish I could live there, wrapped up in it forever. I do so love a good blanket…

Sometimes I feel as if I’ve been living under a blanket for years.

When I was younger it was just a veil. A thin layer between me and the world. When I lost my dad, it became a sheet. Not heavy enough to bury me. Still light enough that I could keep moving forward. When I lost my breasts to cancer, I pulled a flannel blanket up to my chin. And I carried it with me everywhere I went. In 2020, Covid came and took away so many loved ones. Mental anguish took a best friend. I pulled the wool over my eyes.

I got so accustomed to the heavy feeling, I think it became a comforter. The familiarity of it, the warmth, the weight. I could probably live there, wrapped up in it forever. I do so love a good blanket…

Even though I could easily stay still there, under the weight, I keep moving, albeit slowly. Crawling out from under the covers. Little by little, day by day. Peeling away layer by layer, so that I can move more freely, figuratively and literally. So that I can become lighter- also figuratively and literally. So that I can live more fully.

Just this morning, I read something completely off-topic, which made me realize that the heaviness of my grief should not be a hindrance. The heaviness is a gift.

It is the weight of all of the earthly energy that the dead have bequeathed upon me. It is the residue of the experiences we had together. It is their laughter and their love, their triumphs and their heartaches. It is what remains of their lives. Left, not to weigh me down, but to inspire me, enrich me, improve me, assist me, inform me and remind me how to live.

It is mine now. And I will carry it inside me, proudly and gratefully as I move forward.

Today, I have decided, (but certainly not for the first time), that I am going to crawl out from under the-blanket-of-all-things-in-the-past.

I will no longer allow any of it to weigh me down. I will, however, allow all-things-in-the-past to inform me, enrich me, improve me, assist me, and remind me how to live.

I will throw the weight of the past off of my body, (but certainly not for the last time), fold it up neatly, and rest it on the back of the sofa. I know it will always be there. But I just don’t think I need it anymore.

If you have been resting too long beneath the comfortable layers of grief/anger/self-pity/resentment/regret/disappointment/etc., perhaps it is time to crawl out of the covers, plant your feet firmly on the floor, and take those first next steps away from it. It will always be there if you ever need it. But I just don’t think you need it anymore.