Dear Lyla,
I want to tell you about the chair that sits in the corner of our dining room. You know, the one that is usually covered with jackets or your backpack. The chair that daddy isn’t allowed to sit in, the chair that every once in a while mommy just sits in to rock; that is the chair I want to tell you about today. That chair is old, I am not sure how old, but it is certainly older than I am; which according to your estimation must be prehistoric. My first memory of that chair was when I was 6 years old. It was sitting in my great grandma Susie’s kitchen. It sat underneath a wooden shelf that held nick knacks of every sort imaginable. Even back then you could tell the chair was special, if a piece of furniture can have a personality this one surely does. The only time I ever sat on that chair was when I was on one of my grandparents’ laps; this was not a seat intended to soothe the young but to ease the minds of the elders of the house. Great grandma Susie loved her rocker and I asked her one day, when I was much older, what made it so special; she said it was her crying chair. When she was troubled she would sit and rock and think through a problem. If her worries were great she would open the good book and rock while trying to balm her bruised spirit. I imagine my great grandmother as a younger woman and what troubles she may have rocked away in that chair. All of the sadness and the pain that she let her God take off her shoulders one rock at a time. But grandma Susie was quick to point out that not all tears belong to sorrow, that her chair was a place of joy as well. In that chair she rocked her grand babies, her great grand babies and her great-great grand babies when Kaila and Koel were born. This rocker knew of grandmas joys, sorrows and secrets; much like a trusted a beloved friend. When grandma went to live in the nursing home she gave it to Bumpa for safe keeping at our house. Bumpa allowed no one to sit in that chair, it was too special he thought for everyday use. Bumpa and his grandma were very close and as long as he had that chair, he could keep a part of her with him. I wonder what grandma Susie would have thought about that; about not letting anyone sit in the chair. My guess is that she would have told Bumpa to stop being silly, that it was just a chair and chairs are for sitting. Yes, I am sure that is what she would have told him; but in her heart she would secretly be overjoyed that her grandson loved her so much that he was keeping the chair as a sort of talisman. It wasn’t until Bumpa had his first grandchild, Kaila, that the rules for sitting in the chair changed. Suddenly that rocker had a new purpose, to soothe and nurture his newborn granddaughter. Little one, you also felt the comfort of that chair as an infant; I like to think that while nursing in that chair you were embraced by the generations that came before. When Bumpa went to heaven he left the chair to me. I think he knew that I would always treasure the story of great grandma Susie’s rocking chair and remember to keep it alive through its re-telling. While many may not care about the story that old rocking chair has to tell; it is your history little one, your familial narrative. Remember to treasure it always and to keep those who came before you alive in your heart.
Letters To Lyla 