I sit here, staring at this chair. It’s not my favorite, but it was yours.
I kept it because it was yours, and therefore I couldn’t let it go. It’s a small piece of you.
Truthfully, I don’t like it. It’s not my style, but it sits in my office because it’s my favorite room of the house and I want a piece of you there.
Over the years I’ve been inspired to change this room. Make it more mine. A place that will hold my creativity and my freedom.
But then, I see the chair. It holds me back. It makes me pause. It’s here and must stay, because it was yours. The chair stays and so does the decor and feeling in this room.
After all, how could I possibly get rid of a piece of you? I’m not supposed to, right? I’m supposed to hold tightly to all that is left of you, including this chair.
But what if I’m ready to let it go? Could it be? Could I possibly give up a piece of you, willingly?
There isn’t much left of you down here, physically at least. We’ve got pictures and sentimental items. But as the years go on, I find less and less items that belonged to you. Not necessarily because we’ve gotten rid of them, but because they have faded into the crevices of the closet or the corners of the basement.
So why do I find myself so stuck to this chair? One that if I remember correctly, you never even sat in. I’m not even sure you liked it that much. But here I am savoring it like it was the last hug you gave.
I save it because it was yours.
I save it because I still ache for you and sometimes walking past that chair, I see you. I see you sitting there reading a book, or tapping your leg for me to come sit, or simply smiling the way you did.
One day the chair will go. One day I’ll be strong enough in my healing to understand that the chair that sits in front of me has no tie to you. It has no power.
One day I’ll be strong enough to redecorate this room into pieces that accompany my creativity and inspiration. Until then, I’ll keep reminiscing you and savoring the pieces I have left. Even this old funky looking chair.
A thirty-something wife, mother and educator who has Indiana roots and a passionate spirit. Chelsea is a sappy romantic, coffee junkie, book collector, and person who wears her heart on her sleeve. She’s sarcastic, full of jokes, full of tears, and enjoys writing most when life gets messy or complicated. In 2017, Chelsea's mother passed away. Through her grief journey, she decided to take her mother’s advice and share her writing with the world. One day she gained the courage to honor her mother's wishes and write. It turned out to be one of the best decisions she's ever made.