The Day a Mattress Took the Lead Role**

We were laughing.

Not polite laughter, but real laughter.

The kind that exists for no reason at all.

Then the phone started talking.

“Aunt… dad’s bed is acting strange.”

That is never an innocent sentence.

The mattress was new. Blue. Moving.

A mattress that doesn’t lie still, but works.

Designed to carry those who can no longer turn themselves.

“It doesn’t work,” she said.

“It moves.”

Exactly. That’s the point.

I asked calmly if the plug had been checked.

A pause.

“My mother accidentally unplugged it yesterday.”

There it was.

The plug.

Always the plug.

I explained how to turn the pump up.

Not two. Four. Five. Eight if needed.

But the solution was already decided.

“We’re going to turn the mattress upside down.”

That’s when every former caregiver stops breathing.

I said no.

Electricity doesn’t like creativity.

Beds are not DIY projects.

And then Rofke took over.

Not with words.

With her whole body.

She became electricity.

Mouth. Tongue. Head.

“Tsjjjjjchhhhhhtchhhhh.”

Shaking. Buzzing. Convincing.

“So,” she said, half laughing, half buzzing,

“That’s how it goes. Broken. Dead.”

And then she started laughing.

Really laughing.

I laughed too.

Completely undone.

Somewhere between the buzzing, the laughter, and the phone,

the situation finally landed.

The children were told to be quiet.

The company was called.

The mattress will be replaced.

And we kept laughing.

Because care is serious.

But without laughter,

it becomes unbearable.

Some days,

a mattress simply steals the show.

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