The Chair In The Corner

The Chair In The Corner

Outside my grandson’s bedroom sits a rocking chair.

It’s not just any chair.

This is the rocking chair my grandmother rocked my mom in when she was a baby.

Grandma gave it to me when I was in my early 20s.

She probably shouldn’t have, I was a young man who liked to have parties at my house.

How that chair survived, I will never know.

Grandma knew the importance of memories and left me many in the old things she passed down to me.

Not just the chair, but her blue & white Johnson Brothers china, an old hurricane lamp that still brightens one of our bedrooms, and the blue & white pitcher that watches me from inside the corner cupboard in our dining area.

We gave the chair to our son Jake and his wife, Grace, when we left Oregon.

My mom rocked me in that chair.

We rocked Jake and Jess in that old oak chair.

And now, while it’s not as functional as the modern-day rocker they use with our grandson, it still sits outside his bedroom as if watching over him, as it’s done for four generations.

I know it’s just a chair.

I understand that there are less squeaky pieces of furniture that can do a better job of lulling Niko to sleep than this old chair.

But the new chair doesn’t have the history of the chair in the corner.

If only it could talk.

If that old chair could tell the stories of late nights, close calls, and peaceful nights, rocking my family history to this moment in time.

This old chair stirs so many memories in me on this Christmas morning.

This old chair will probably never mean to Niko what it means to me.

But that doesn’t really matter.

As I look at it sitting by itself in the hallway outside his bedroom, my mind is flooded with memories of past Christmases.

I see, inside of him, my mother, my grandmother, his father, and all the Christmases that came before.

For the old, creaky rocking chair, its functionality can’t keep up with our modern world.

But its purpose hasn’t really changed all that much.

Like all of us, it may not be the primary source used to lull young ones to a place of rest.

But just being what it is, it still brings peace and calm to those willing to look, listen, and remember all that it’s witnessed.

The stories haven’t died, they are still buried in my, triggered by…The chair in the corner.

The Chair In The Corner…..It still matters.