This was my mother's chair. Some history:
My mom ALWAYS had a chair she sat in. It was the chair she sat in to watch movies, crochet, eat food and visit with the family. Its like the Archie Bunker chair in my house, except it was for one of the most loving and caring person you could ever meet. A couple years before she died, my dad bought her this nice blue leather chair, pictured above. She used it till the day she died.
I remember the day she died and I've detailed it here in a Previous Post before. But on that day, we sat at the house, all of us brothers, in-laws and dad. We listened to Jackie Wilson on CD and just tried to talk or think about ANYTHING else than mom. Dad would periodically leave to go to the bedroom and cry. Too proud even now to let us see him in pain. And he was in deep pain. After the third or forth time he left, I went in after him. What I saw was perhaps the saddest thing I had ever seen in my life. I'll never forget the image as long as I live. He was on his knees, head buried into mom's beloved chair. Her spot that she always had throughout our lives and sobbing into the cushion. I got him up and hugged him hard. I told him that he would never be alone, because he had me. He finally came out and rejoined us.
That was twelve years ago now. And this was that chair. After my dad remarried, he moved to Southern Illinois. And sometimes when we'd visit, the eventual "death talk" would start. "you get this, they get that" type of talk. And I was asked repeatedly what I wanted. I said the only thing I wanted was mom's chair. My name was put on it so that I could get it one day if they passed away.
Cut to 2008: Scott was born and we wanted a nice rocking chair to rock him to sleep. I asked dad if I could just go ahead and have the chair now and he agreed. I drove with my pal Ted the 7 hours south, loaded up the chair in the jeep and drove back in one shot. We used the chair for a couple months to rock bots to sleep but eventually, one day the chair broke. The front of it snapped out of the groove and some of the wood broke. I looked at it but it was a tangled mess, which I deemed that once I had some spare money I would get it fixed. Only to delay it time and time again. In the corner of each apartment we had it sat collecting dust. Unused. We didn't want to sit in it for fear that it would get worse. We tried to call around for furniture repair but no one had any leads locally. I even toyed with the idea of just throwing it out. But the chair means too much to me to let it go. So there it stayed. It plagued me with embarrassment. Like, why can't you just get it fixed already!?!? I felt like a failure about it. And I hate leaving little fires laying around. I like to fix things before they become an issue, no matter how small. So it just sat there....
Until today. I cleaned the bedroom and did all that other stuff and something in my mind told me: "Go look at it today. I'll bet you can fix it." It just popped in there. I decided to listen and I flipped the chair over and gave it an honest look. I cut off some of the under-fabric and got rid of some crap in the way, exposing the main problem. After pulling every muscle I had, I got the wood back in the grooves and made a splint using a discarded metal bracket. I used wood glue to hold it into place while we ate and went to Menards for more nails and another bracket with screws. After another half hour, I got it together. We tried hard to get all the springs back in place to no avail. So I rigged it up with some rope and VOILA. The chair is back in working order. I even sat in it, kicked my feet up and it felt good.
Believe me, I'm still taking extra care with it and making sure others do too. Bots is no longer allowed to jump on my couch or especially this chair. Time for him to grow up a bit. But I got my chair back. Her chair. I'm glad I didn't give up on it. And we moved it to the living room right across from my desk and it sits here now as I type this. I used to stare at it in our bedroom at night. I don't know why. But now I can look over at the chair and I don't know... "Talk" to her. Sounds odd and I know I am crazy. But it gives me some comfort. I am a sentimental guy at heart. But it sits there looking at me, like a trophy. Like "yeah, you coulda gave up on this memory but you fixed it and here it is. You cared enough." And I am proud of that.
So yeah. Busy day. Productive day. and I'm just getting started. Off to work on Mars Attacks cards!
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