Thursday, June 13, 2013

Shoes and Chairs.

In our living room sits one of the greatest pieces of furniture I have ever seen. It’s not special in the sense of expensive or grandiose, but it is by far the best piece of furniture I have sat in. I affectionately call it “The Dog Chair”... Dad and Shelb know it as, “Brittany’s Chair”.

Ever since you had your surgery at Stanford, this chair has become MY chair, my resting place. I curl up in it, legs dangling over one of the arms, armrest covers fall onto the carpet, and I just simply “be”. Sometimes the dog will make herself into the tiniest ball she can and cuddles with me... though most times she won’t.

This chair has been my only company in my deepest thoughts, the place I have written several of my blog posts, my reading chair, and my one comfort in job searches and sometimes even homework...

Dad asks me every once in a while why it is that the “dog chair”,(a chair covered in material that contains dogs sitting by a fire, go figure) has become my chair. Why no one else in our family sits in that chair, but me.  
Well that answer is easy, and yet to outsiders, it may seem silly.

The "dog chair" was the last place you physically sat in our house. It shocks me sometimes how many details of that insignificant moment I remember...

The last memory I have of you, the last moment you were physically in our home ,you were in jeans and my favorite long sleeve shirt, tying your tennis shoes on a cold night in December. That particular night was the night... the night before your surgery at Stanford, after our early Christmas and a visit from your best friend Joann and her daughter, you sat in that chair and put on your shoes. They were the blue canvas ones with cream laces and brown soles. 
As you were tying the right one, with your foot placed on your knee, you peered out the window to your left and into our backyard. An occurrence that to so many means nothing, to me meant nothing, now is the last place you ever sat in this home.

That is why the dog chair is my chair. Because when I sit there I remember you. In the oddest of ways, something silly means so much to me. I hope I never forget that look on your face…the confusion and the uncertainty of what was next …and yet a peace I saw in your eyes that we were all there, doing it together.

Dad knows that he can never get rid of that chair.

 It doesn’t always have to be in the house, but he knows he HAS to keep it for me. The day I get my first real home it is coming with me. It may be two or three or four years from now, the chair may become stained or tattered, but it is coming with me. No question about that.
The chair makes me feel at home. It’s comforting. It’s my little place to think, journal, and just reflect. It is my place to look out the window and dream about what’s to come. The dog chair is mine… and yet in the very same way, it is yours. It is our meeting place in my mind and in my heart. Silly but yet comforting, and that is all that matters tonight.

Maybe, just maybe, God will give me a “dog chair” when we meet in Heaven one day and we can talk in each other’s presence like we never missed a beat. Thanks for always listening Mom.

Love Always and Forever
Your Daughter,