The Loud Chair

How can an empty chair scream so loud? How is it able to kick me in the gut then shove me to the ground without making a move?  

It plays a melancholy melody over and over. I can't turn the volume down.  The smell is of sweet sugar, angel cake with pink frosting. 

Birthdays are supposed to be special. For some it is a rite of passage, and for others it is a burden. For me, my birthday is special to one person, my mom. As I grew up, the gifts I received from her were probably more for herself than for me. I still have the personalized plated photo album (yes, there was a time we actually printed hard copy photos and put them in books), with "16 Hugs" on it. It wasn't just about me turning 16, it was her way of encouraging me to catalog the memories. Maybe she wanted to see those memories too.  I envision her peeking through the albums after I went away to college. 

Today, I avoid my birthday. Not because of the continual tick of time beating on my collagen. Not because I want to be younger than I am. I loathe it because it makes the empty chair the biggest elephant in my room. It is her chair. Yet, it is empty. On this day, the chair trips me, or chants so loud I can't hear myself think. That chair rips my heart out all day long. 

Even if every person I know reached out to me today sending me birthday wishes, I would still feel, see, hear and smell that empty chair. When I get the birthday wishes, it is like a compliment I cannot accept. This day isn't MY day. Today belongs to her, my mom, the one who brought me into this world. I even erased my birthday on Facebook just to reduce the attention. 

Ironically, I do have her chair. It was the very chair she sat in while she got ready for work, going out or at time she just sat on, in her room, in her space. The bench chair is a simple wood legged, avocado green seat with a partial rolled back. Years back my now ex-husband had it reupholstered because the seat was ripped to shreds. He chose the new pattern, light colored floral with long skirt all around the seat. This chair sits in my bedroom. I often grab the legs of the chair and rest my head in the cushion. I can smell her Final Net hairspray mixed with cigarette smoke. I can hear her light Music in the background (some Englebert Humperdinck, Charlie Pride or George Straight. I can feel her use her fingers to comb through my hair and sometimes wipe away my tears.

I love that chair. Yet with it being empty, I resent that chair sometimes.  

I need to redo that chair and make it back to its original look. Maybe she will visit more if she sees her chair back to her original state. 

I do appreciate the people in my life, even more so that they take the time to reach out to me.

I pray the emptiness lessens more over time, because to have an empty chair that speaks so loudly is gut-wrenching. Until then, I will smile when people say “Happy Birthday”, but inside I cringe and hold my breath, waiting for the day to be over.