In Memoriam:  Dusty and M. Physema

Recently and suddenly, my two pillows (Dusty and M. Physema) were relegated to the pillow graveyard, the stuffed animal filler pile.  We were longtime friends, I honestly couldn’t recall a time when I didn’t have them with me.  They were perfectly shaped into flattened, shapeless rectangles that supported my neck and head just so when stacked together.  They were a sleepytime dream team, I fear I shall never find their equal amongst the roster of bland, slippery, new hypo-allergenic pillows on our bed. Indeed, the cruel joke of it all is a nightly wake held in honour of my missing pillows.

Nikki gently convinced me it was time to let them go to a better place; as stuffing for Cael’s Superman pillow buddy.  Tearfully I let them go, but to be honest I did everything with them tearfully since they had become so old that the atmosphere that surrounded them was constantly swirling with wonderful motes of mould and dust, irritating the eyes and lungs equally.  Every morning I would wake, my sinuses packed full and wheezing mightily, my head dizzy from lack of oxygen as my spongy airways constrict with mouldy love for my pillow friends.

Indeed, in the morning when a ray of sunshine found them, it was like sleeping inside a beautiful snowglobe, my explosive sneezes stirring the molecules of irritants wonderfully, given a wondrous glow as I squinted through rheumy eyes.  As I now struggle to cope with their loss, and to become adjusted to their annoyingly puffy and light replacements, I can’t help but remember the good times we had over the years; the asthma attacks of ’96, ’96, ’97, ’99 (four times, sniff), and the oxygen tent in ’03.  Truly we had fun.

Good times. Guys?  Thanks for the phlegmories.