Every house seems to have a “best chair.” The chair that’s the most comfortable, the coziest when you’re sick, the most relaxing. That chair at my mom’s house is a blue recliner.
My brother thought so, too, and he would often be found in that chair when he came to visit. He’d read books…. take naps…. drink coffee… just about live in the chair the whole time he was at Mom’s.
It’s a grand chair, soft steel-blue, short velour, a rocker-recliner, and we would fight over it in fine sibling style. It was my usual spot when Bob wasn’t visiting. We each claimed it as “ours” for the long haul, for the time when we’d be moving the furnishings out of Mom’s place. We would tease and call it “my chair” in front of one another just to provoke a response.
Some years ago, my brother died unexpectedly. There were a lot of shockwaves for each family member and on many levels. The next time I saw the blue chair it looked very empty. I still continued to use it when I visited my mom, once in a while referring to it as “my chair” just to keep the tease going.
Time has passed, and my mom has died, and we’re looking at breaking up housekeeping at her home. What to donate, what to keep, what to sell…. and it all looks so overwhelming. I guess I win…. the chair is mine now, though ownership at this point is sad. I think it would be “the blue chair” even if it were brown.
(c) 2020, J. Cools