To a Faithful Family Hammock

Late last night, my hammock bit the dust. Well, technically, you could argue that it’s hanging on to life by a thread. Sorry, I’m not really a fan of puns, but that one was just hanging so thick in the air here that I had to do something with it.

This faithful hammock has been a part of our family for over three years, quietly swaying in the background of our lives. It’s been many things to us: a respite from the storm that was often brewing inside the house, a resting place mid-afternoon when the small people’s eyelids grew heavy, and a web when the boys went through their Spiderman phase.

My husband and I love to swing on the hammock together at night, looking at the stars and reflecting on the day. Likely, the hammock is not meant to hold two grown adults who have consumed scandalous amounts of crab dip in the last few weeks, but we like to pretend otherwise because, well, it pleases us.

The hammock has certainly seen more glorious days. Some of the cords have been retied in an effort to salvage the hammock, but we knew those measures were only temporary salves on a giant wound that would eventually reopen. And reopen it did.

Last night, it finally said, “No more, kind but heavy creatures!” My husband got on first, and the second I sat down next to him, you could hear the sound of several ropes snapping at once. I instantly popped back up in a move reminiscent of kung fu that I can only imagine I must have learned from 72 viewings of Kung Fu Panda. My efforts pulled from the deep subconscious recesses of my mind were nonetheless futile. A quick perusal confirmed what we knew in our hearts: the hammock’s best days were over.

Thus the Island Family sits in mourning, paying tribute to the hammock that served so well, for so long. Goodbye, fair friend. We’ll remember you often as we swing from the new hammock we’re going to Lowes to buy right now.