Tuesday, December 11, 2007

It’s Just a Chair

No it isn't.

My routine when I'm up at my parents place is a simple one. Country life dictates simplicity.

I usually get up around 9-10 and wander into the den to hang out with my father. He's always been the most comfortable in his den and it's a gorgeous room. It was an add-on to the house, it's a large room with its own entrance, fireplace, bathroom/shower and sliding glass doors to separate it. It's got windows on 3 walls and a beautiful view of the pond and the land. This is his room and in it is his chair. The chair is a gigantic blue La-Z-Boy and he loves that chair. His space heater is next to it, his favourite blanket on the chair.

I go plodding in there and there he is on his chair watching old movies, news or whatever oddity he can find. I plop down and my mother's chair and wake up fully. Usually I pester him into watching Springer with me, he can't stand Springer. We spend a few hours watching Fox News or MSNBC and discussing/debating whatever is going on that day.

Eventually I pester him into going into the living room. Since he went on oxygen it's harder for him to move around but he gives in. He gives me books to look up, price or add to their online store. We go over those and if there are any orders, search out the book and process the orders.

It's been this way for 10 years.

I broke down hard before. I went into the den to see if there were any packages out there (I'm waiting for my Swiss Colony Beef Log!) and there was his big empty chair. Blanket on the chair, the Timberwolves hat I gave him last Christmas is on top of the cold space heater. It just really blasted me that there was no Chuck in the chair and who knows if there ever will be.

My mother, having received nothing but gloom and doom from that witch, was trying to imagine life without him and spent a few hours talking about renovating the den into an apartment for me. I bit a bloody hole in my cheek to keep myself from cracking up listening to her, I know she needed to do what she was doing but it got to me. That was 2 nights ago when he took the bad turn and even more after yesterday's encounter. I don't want the den, not like that.

So when I saw the empty chair I just collapsed on it and lost it for a half hour.

I know it's just an object, just a chair. Just because in my mind I can rationalise that and agree that the emotional attachment placed on objects is self-induced torture BUT that doesn't mean I can do a damn thing about the way my heart reacts. I can only sit there with gloom on one shoulder and logic on the other.

"It's just a chair."
"Ah, but it's HIS chair."
"It's just a chair."
"Ah, but think of all the time spent there, he loves that chair."
"It's just a chair."
"Ah, but remember when ."

And so on, repeat ad nauseum.

This totally sucks.

Warbled by WebKittyn at 09:19 pm in

• Family

(4) Comments • Permalink

 

1. It’s NOT just a chair---you and I both know that.  Give yourself a break.

    on  12/11  at  03:03 PM

2. Thank you for that.  That you a lot.

   WK  on  12/11  at  06:31 PM

3. My mom still has her father’s chair and he died long before I was born. There are some things you keep because of the good memories associated with them.

   (((HUGS)))

   Andrea  on  12/11  at  06:38 PM

4. Its kind of weird the things we hang on to.  When my old man died I held onto a harmonica, and a texas style tie.  Both have been tucked away for safe keeping, but i seem to come across them when I need to.  I guess some things just remind us of the good things.

   Nothing is “just a chair” when memories are involved.

    on  12/11  at  06:55 PM
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