The Red Chair
The
red chair which sat in the corner was the only thing that remained when everything else
changed, as I looked closer at the chair I noticed it wasn’t just a red
chair. The chair was the very same one that was in my grandma’s home. I know
the chair was the same because I secretly carved my name in the wood on the
back leg. I don’t know why I carved my name it was just a kid thing back then.
Maybe
I because when I became an adult I might come across it and remember doing it as a child. I was now
standing face to face with a part of my history and a decision to make. At what
cost do I bring a part of my past home? At what cost do I bring the past into
the present and possibly open wounds better left closed?
The
longer I stood there the more the memories of my childhood came back to me, as
a smile formed on my lips. The many wonderful stories my grandmother told me as
I sat on her lap, than at her feet when I grew older. How could I not continue
that tradition with the children who crossed my path? My own or those I cared
for over the years. I took a deep breath, looked at the men who stood next to
me and led the charge to retrieve what was mine many years ago.
Due to circumstances the next post will be Monday Dec 1. Sorry for any inconvenience
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