The Pillow Jack

Near sunrise, I slipped into the living room to check on my husband, John, asleep in his recliner. As John’s cancer
progressed, he preferred the recliner to our bed. I found him flat on his back on the floor. I shook him gently. “Honey, what happened?”

John’s eyes opened. “In the middle of the night, my chair lifted me up and dumped me out.”

“That seems unlikely,” I said.

“Can you help me sit up?” John was a big guy, and I hadn’t much strength. I eased one of his pillows under his back. That helped, so I added another one, and then a chair cushion until John was propped up, but not upright. “Lord, please help me,” I prayed silently.

A scene from a TV Western flashed in my mind. A cowboy perched, in peril, on the windowsill of a burning building. His options: death or escape. Frantically, he grabbed bed sheets, knotting them into a ladder. I could do the same. I tied sheets together and wrapped them around a sturdy chair. Hand over hand, John hoisted himself to a sitting position.

“Thanks, babe.” John chuckled. “Never realized you were such a clever mechanic until you invented the pillow jack.” We shared a good laugh. Despite tough circumstances, we were still a great team.