As a kid growing up, nothing made me feel as safe as I felt when I was curled up in my bed. My safe haven. Nothing compared. Tucked tightly within the depths of my bed, nothing could touch me, not the boogie man, not the thunderstorms, not the shadows of the trees swinging too and fro, not even the voices of my parents as they would argue with each other in the living room. My bed. So warm and so cozy, so safe. As I grew older, I quickly adapted ways of using my bed for further protection. I would flip it on it’s side when playing cops and robbers, and with my trusty bed, the bullets would never hit me. The nerf darts would simple fall to the floor, and in time, my mattress would soon transform into the ceiling of a fortress.

There comes a time in everyone’s life when their safe haven is stripped away from them, if even for a moment, leaving them alone and abandoned. It can be anything really. For some, it’s the lost blankey or teddy bear that’s held in time of need. For others it could be the companionship, licks and kisses of a pet that’s passed on, a simple photo that’s held in a walle, or even ones faith. For some it’s gone forever, and others are still hopelessly trying to find it.

My safe haven was taken from me at a very early age. January 9th, 1995. It all started with a call to the principles office where my mother and father met me. In a mass of confusion and urgency I was whisked away to the University Medical Center in Lubbock Texas, where I was  diagnosed with cancer. A scary word. A word that I was always taught associated with death. That night I longed to be at home, in the safety of my own bed, hoping to be pinched and that I’d awaken from my nightmare. It wasn’t to be. It would be a good 3-4 months before I would see my bed again, many nights stayed at the hospital, countless more stayed at the Ronald McDonald house.

Dirty beds. Overly soft beds. Firm beds. Hard beds. To be honest, it didn’t matter what bed I was in, the fact that it wasn’t mine was all I needed to know.

I had lost my safe haven and I was desperately trying to find it among the chaos that was to be my life. Feeling that all hope was lost, I had given up. I decieded to grin and bare it, too look the boogie man in the eyes, to stand on the tallest lightning rod on the tallest tower during a thunderstorm. Just so I could be re-united with my bed. My safe haven. At this point, I realized it wasn’t just my bed that was my safe haven, but my environment in which my save haven was. My bed, in my room, in my house, in my town, in my state. My bed. In my room. Where the boogie man and thunderstorms couldn’t shake me for I was safe.

One day, as I was getting a shot in my back with this rather large needle, this male nurse was holding me down. I couldn’t take it anymore. For so long I had envisioned myself in my bed, safe where there was no pain. I couldn’t anymore, it had been so long since I felt safe, since I had saw my own bed that I forgot what safe felt like, I broke down in tears.

“Think of your Never Never land” … the nurse had said.

Sobbing and barley recognizable I giggled … “What did you just say?”

I couldn’t believe what I had heard. I was about to get the biggest needle shoved into my back, and he wants me to pretend I’m like Peter Pan. I thought he was crazy ….

“You know, Peter Pan, Never Never land, he could go there, fly around, nobody could touch him”.

“Really? I can do that?”

“Sure thing …. I hope you get to feeling better …”

Just like that it was done and over with. I didn’t feel the needle enter my back, nor did I feel it leave, and thanks to his kind words my life has never really been the same.  I never caught his name, I only remember his big dorky glasses he was wearing and for some reason I have the image of Robin Williams(in hook) talking to me.

My own never never land. A place I could go, where I made the rules, I determined what pain would be allowed to enter, what emotions and ideas would be allowed to leave. A place, for me and for me alone.

A week or so had past, and my mind changed dramatically. No more pain. I felt at peace. I’d visit my neverland frequently, and for the longest time it was daily. During my daily checkups, my blood withdrawls, and catscans and testings. It didn’t bother me anymore like it once had.

One night, I had come home, finally able to see my bed, for the first time in a long time. It didn’t have the same meaning to me as it once did, it still felt safe, but my newfound knowledge of my portable safe haven somewhat stole my bed’s thunder. It didn’t matter, as long as I felt safe. That night my mother surprised me with a pair of tennis shoes. A pair of Adidas Ozweego Classics. Man were they comfy. I’m not sure if they were comfy comfy, or comfy because they were my first pair of real name brand, non-payless shoes. That is yet to be determined. Ozweego. It flowed off the tongue nicely. Ozweego.

In highschool I bought another pair of ozweego classics, and of course had the same fixation with the word Ozweego. Only I knew why, and I would run down the halls shouting it. For that it made me seem crazy. It didn’t matter though, because I had a place where I can be me. I can mute out the noises of pain, where I dictate what happens and why it happens. A little town in my head that belonged to me and me alone. My new safe haven.

My OzweegoVille.

So for those who have their own little slice of heaven, your own safe haven. Enjoy it Cherish it.  Most of all, use from time to time. And for those that feel hopelessly lost looking for your little slice of heaven, your own safe haven, take heed in the little(or rather large in my case) pinpricks that life gives …. it might be just around the corner waiting to be re-discovered.

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Tags: MyOzweegoVille.