Savoring Security
A little blue square trimmed in navy satin, Mason was attached to his Blankie from birth. An experienced Mom-friend suggested we buy a duplicate blanket immediately to avoid any trauma if one gets lost. Unfortunately, as a young preschooler, his brother Tyler had the wit to name him “the Imposter,” sealing his fate as the understudy.
Blankie joined us on every family vacation and road trip and traveled throughout the house as Mason’s trusty sidekick. He was dedicated to ensuring Mason’s happiness, surviving a few burns (one candle, one lightbulb) and many near losses as he was invariably left on park benches, beaches, poolside, and often on the roof of our car. Blankie persevered.
Mason’s separation anxiety kicked in with early daycare drop-offs and often when I went out for a run. Todd would ease my anxiety by encouraging me to put my mental health first by making time to exercise. “He only cries for a second and is easily distracted once you leave the driveway,” he would convince me. I have since seen evidence to the contrary in old videos of poor Mason clutching Blankie as he sobbed at the front door.
Eventually, the day came when Mason suggested moving Blankie to the memorabilia chest in our attic. I wasn’t ready and had flashbacks of the sad toys in the movie Toy Story. I found a stuffed animal I had tried to sew together years earlier and opened his stitching to slide in Blankie. “Blake,” the terry cloth orange monster would keep Blankie safe, Mason explained to me.
As I walked around Mason’s soon-to-be college campus last month, I was excited about the adventure he will soon be embarking on. I am nostalgic as so much of being in the South reminds me of my own college experience thirty years ago. I also am heartbroken for that little boy who would clutch me in one sticky hand and Blankie in the other.
I had a Blankie when I was little, but I am more attached to a blanket that lives on our couch. As soon as Todd and I announced our engagement, my Gramma Phyllis began knitting. She created a scrumptious cream blanket for our wedding present. As soon as I slip under it today, I am instantly comforted by the soft knit. My brother and sister each have their own versions, and we send each other selfies to compare snuggling. The weather has been damp recently, and I have found this blanket and a book can cheer up any dreary afternoon.
When I was sick this winter, my friend Christine visited with the softest blanket for me. Not only did that baby blue nurse me back to health, but she was compact enough to make the trip to the Azores last April. The blanket relaxed me into a deep sleep on the overnight flight.
My mother has been passing along items from the Woodstock, Connecticut, home she grew up in for us to use in our home in Woodstock, Vermont. Each piece has a story from her past to be included in our future. The quilt for the end of our bed, created by my great-grandmother Edith, is compiled of pieces from my mother’s dresses. I close my eyes and imagine the pinks and purples that she wore, but they could just as easily be a collection of sewing scraps. If only the blankets could talk.
Warmth, comfort, nostalgia, and security blankets provide much more than a decorative addition to our beds. As a child of the seventies, the Peanut’s character Linus was secure enough to drag his blanket on any adventure. In our home, we keep a weighted blanket in the family room, ready to inspire a nap at a moment’s notice. I anticipate relying on a variety of blankets for comfort in my empty nest this fall.
