When I came home from the hospital after having Nora, there was a new chair in my living room. My sister and my friends had banded together and bought it for me. I named it the Chair of Healing because that is where I lived life for months.
It saw me through days and days of recovery after Nora was born.
I dreamed of holding Nora in the Chair of Healing and the day came that I did. The days. We got to know each other in this chair.
Time went by and life fell into a normal pattern. The Chair of Healing became my safe place. I learned to doodle in it, I rested in it, I learned to Be Still in it. It is where I want to be when I am feeling yucky. When fibro flares up, this is the only comfy place.
How many days have we snuggled in this chair, me and my three littles?
It’s ragged now, Caroline has deposited her slobbery ball on it approximately 3840283048 times and it shows. Foster pups have chewed on it here and there. This was all okay with me, just character! But now. It is broken.
It does okay when it’s opened up into the reclining position. But if you try and just sit in it, it kind of leans forward. It doesn’t want to rock. I’m having to face facts that its days may be numbered.
I struggle with this, more than seems practical or sensible. Yes, it’s been my faithful friend but it is also just a chair.
And then I realize. I had one more dream for me and the Chair of Healing.
I wanted to sit in this chair and hold Sylvie. I wanted her to experience mama in the Chair of Healing. I wanted to have those moments with her.
I have been picturing it in my heart since we first saw her picture.
So, perhaps we’ll turn the Chair of Healing over again and try and fix it again. Maybe it can limp along a while longer and that dream can come true.
Hang in there, Chair of Healing. You can not retire yet!