The Empty Chair

I let her go today. I feel guilty – and sad.

I had dreaded saying goodbye after caring for her all these years. My husband tenderly carried her to the car. She seemed more frail than ever sitting quietly in the back seat. She had stopped rocking. Glancing through the window I saw where she had been rocking too close to the wall and bumping over and over again. How could she be so tolerant in our close quarters?

My attachment to her had deepened over these years, more than I had realized. Leaving her felt like something was ripping out of my chest, a terrible wrenching. I felt like the betrayer.

I rang the bell. An elderly woman with gentle laugh lines welcomed me.

“She’s here.” As soon as she was inside, a flurry of women swarmed around her, primping and admiring her aged beauty.

“Are you sure about this?” one asked.

I thought I had prepared my heart, but my throat closed up and tears welled in my eyes. I sensed my heart beginning to race as I realized the final good-bye approaching. Had this day really arrived? “I’m trying not to cry.”

One sensitive worker looked at me and offered kind words, “Wherever she goes, she’ll be appreciated. She’s beautiful. A real oak.”

In spite of her wobbly legs, she had brought stability to me – a sense of a beauty in my simple heritage. She was tangible evidence of something I may never have known without those like her.

I had to leave the building. Tears were streaming down my face, but I hid them well. I closed the door behind me. I gathered myself. I went back inside for. She reminded me so much of my grandmother that leaving her behind was like revisiting Grammy’s death.

“She’s not very comfortable,” I reluctantly pointed out.

One of the women patted her little arm.

I noticed the scars on her leg where our mischievous puppy had once gotten too rough. A flood of memories washed through me.

It seemed callous, but I mustered up the courage to ask, “How much is she worth?”

“Oh, an antique store wouldn’t let her go for less than $200.00.” She will grace someone’s home in a decorator’s corner. They’ll put a pretty pillow on her and she’ll shine on, hopefully gaining the love of another family.

For now, I say, “good-bye,” to Grammy’s little antique rocker. It’s not nearly as tough as saying good-bye to her was. I struggle to let go of earthly possessions. I hang on to the connection to loved ones who have passed before me. “Be with Jesus,” is my hope for all of us. May our legacies be like the oak – reminders of goodness that we long to hold close to our hearts.

I’m comforted knowing the loving workers in the charity store valued her enough to polish her. Her sale will benefit the poor in our area. In this way, my grandmother’s heart lives on.

Thank you, Lord, for the treasured people in my life. It’s hard to say good-bye, but good-bye is not forever. They are always in my heart.