He made me a blanket fort.
Last year, when I was going reckless with sadness and panic, wondering constantly as to what I am doing, what I am suppose to do, what I want and the sheer conviction that I could never achieve what I want to achieve, he made me a blanket fort.
He set it out at the foot of the bed, so I could lean my back against it. He put a small foam mattress on the floor and covered it with a soft duvet. He made it just high enough to sit in it and made sure all chairs, all wood, everything that wasn’t soft and blankets and pillows, was covered.
He put a lamp there, and my computer, and a fan for when it got too hot. And then, he let me in, and pulled down the covers behind me, so that it was only me there, safe, in my own cocoon.
I stayed in there for more than a week. Only coming out to go to the bathroom, or for food. I even slept there, and he never minded me not being with him in bed. I laid there watching all the episodes of Jeeves & Wooster, which proved almost as big a comfort as the fort itself, and movies and silly youtube videos. Sometimes he would crawl in with me, and hold me in his arms while we watched episodes of QI.
He never said anything. Never told me I should stop. Never told me to get over it, to get out of there already. So one day, I got out, looked around, and pulled down the fort myself, carefully folding all of the blankets, putting away the mattress and the chairs, putting back the computer where it belonged on the desk, sat there, and watched another movie.
And that was that.
He made me a blanket fort, so I wouldn’t feel so lost, so I could feel safe, until I was able to stand on my own again.