I was feeling a little giddy as I entered the mattress store.
At this stage of my life, there are not that many things that I haven’t done alone, but buying a bed was one of them. I had assumed that the last bed my late husband and I bought together would be my, well, last bed. Then the fire and windstorm teamed up to change things.
“You’ve been approved for a new bed,” my insurance adjuster told me after ascertaining possible damage to my old one. “Great,” I responded, having no idea what I was getting into.
“What kind of bed should I buy?” I asked George during our nightly conversations that started when he passed away six years ago.
“It should be easy,” he said, “You don’t have to worry about me anymore; just buy a bed that makes you happy.” During our last mattress shopping together, George had cozied up to a very firm mattress and fell asleep on it in the showroom.
“I think that means he wants that bed,” the salesman said wryly.
“But it’s so hard,” I cried. He assured me they would fix me up with a mattress topper that would soften things up. Before I knew it, we were signed, sealed and scheduled for delivery the next day.
That night, I felt like I was sleeping on rocks. We had been assured that you need to give the bed a little time to be broken in before you feel its full joy.
The only thing that felt broken after several days of sleeping on it was my back. George and I turned into babies. He slept like one, and I cried like one.
“This bed is all for me,” I told Jennie, my sleep expert at Mattress Firm, who, it turned out, was very deserving of her title.
She hopped right on board. “I’m guessing you liked your bed softer and your husband preferred firmer.”
“Is there such a thing as an extra-soft mattress?” I asked. In the next hour, I got more exercise, from hopping in and out of beds, than I have had in months, or maybe ever.
We finally determined that extra soft was actually too soft for me. In the end, I ratcheted up to medium, which turned out to be my nirvana.
Jennie never missed a beat as she walked backward so she could face me while answering my never-ending questions. At one point, as I was running out of energy, I plopped down on the nearest bed, not even inquiring if it was a medium.
“I just have to put my legs up for a few minutes,” I confessed.
“Of course,” she said, pressing a button on the adjustable bed base, which sent my legs into 0 gravity heaven. Then she uttered the magic words. “The bed you selected comes with this base.”
I took George’s advice. I bought a bed that made me happy.
Email patriciabunin@sbcglobal.net. Follow her on Patriciabunin.com
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