My grandparents have been sleeping on the same sides of their bed for 63 years. That’s just under three times as long as I’ve been alive. Yesterday I was over at their house, listening to my dad talk them into getting mechanical beds that will raise and lower so they can get out of bed more easily.
They are adamant that they sleep in the same room, next to each other. Much furniture will be rearranged to make this happen.
It’s beautiful, and it’s sad. Watching loved family slow down and make concessions for their age is a sad thing. Time comes and it steals things slowly. I wish I could help. I wish it didn’t have to come to this, robbed of the ability to sleep in the same big bed by the relentless march of time.
“We can hold hands,” my grandma tells her husband.
They smile, and it’s so sweet it breaks my heart.