Mom,
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,
Brittany
