It may just look like an old ordinary kitchen chair, but nooooooooooo. It was no ordinary kitchen chair at all. That chair had power! That chair could get things done. That chair could make things happen. That chair could make connections. That chair could reach over the miles. It gave my mother the power to soar beyond the four walls of our kitchen. At least it did when my mama sat in it.
For as long as I can remember, Mama sat in that chair, the chair in the corner by the only window in the kitchen. For many years, the view from the window looked out into a yard filled with peonies, daffodils and tulips and, in later years, on to a patio full of flowerpots of petunias, begonias and roses.
The aroma of ribs and burgers from family barbecues greeted her nose on many occasions as my mother sat in her chair by the window, watching my dad at the grill. From that window, she could see her best friend’s home, which sat on an adjacent street. Calls to my sisters and me to come to dinner from a day at play also came lovingly from that window. I can still hear Mama’s voice calling to my dad to come to the phone whenever I called her.
The chair has sat empty of her physical body since Aug. 26, 2012, yet it still overflows with her spirit of love, compassion and encouragement.
That was Mama’s chair, and to this day, we lovingly refer to it as just that. I can still see her sitting in her chair by the window, greeting us with a smile, a hug and a kiss as we entered her home. And I can still hear her quiet, sweet voice telling me that she loves me.
Mama wasn’t able to get around well due to health issues, so she was nearly housebound except for occasional trips to the doctors. After a few years, annual doctor’s visits morphed into frequent trips to Lexington’s Markey Cancer Center for radiation treatments. As her health declined, she was no longer able to regularly attend the church she loved so much or the occasional special service when I spoke. She maintained her connection to her church via our play by play of every Sunday service we shared during our family dinner, via her church bulletin, and via the monthly visit from our pastor, who came to serve her communion. She was so excited to see her pastor and to take part in her very own communion service. She sang, prayed and worshiped in her own way right from her chair by the window.
Her treatments left her cancer free and, over time, trips to the doctor for my mom became few and far between. After a while, she never left the house. But you couldn’t tell it. Mama was a wealth of knowledge and could get more things done from that chair by the window than any person with unlimited mobility. She knew everything that was going on with just about everyone in the community, state or nation.
Mama was connected to mayors, governors and other notable people both in and outside of her community. She used these connections to assist her in helping others. Her method of contact was not Facebook, Twitter, Instagram or texts. She used her voice by way of the “house phone,” a phone connected to the wall by a cord. No cell phone for her. Mama loved to write letters and notes, which she would send by the United States Postal Service (snail mail). She didn’t have email. She was my source for the morning weather and news updates several times a day. She would inform me when to stock up on milk, bread and eggs for an impending snowstorm or would tell me when to stay home due to rain. I would often say with a smile, “Mama, you know cars have windshield wipers, right?”
Her chair had become her comfort and joy, her place of business and entertainment.
When my mom passed away, several people shared with me that they spoke with her on a daily basis, and they missed her sweet voice and conversations. Others expressed to me that she often wrote to them. I had not known the power of her reach from her chair by the window. She touched more lives from her chair than most will ever touch in their lifetime.
She didn’t let the fact that she couldn’t get out of the house stop her from doing anything. Some of you might view yourself as “stuck in a chair” of your current situation in life, but look at it from my mom’s viewpoint: It’s just a chair to sit in to get things done. It is not a prison or place of confinement. From her chair, Mama had an unlimited view of possibilities. She wasn’t able to physically get out of her chair, but her mind and spirit were not bound by that limitation. With a free mind and spirit—like my mom—you can do anything you dream or desire. You just need to be creative about how to make it a reality. You can help yourself, and you can help others. By doing so, you no longer are focused on the things you once thought were confining or limiting. You are free to accomplish great things.
My mom didn’t let the fact that she was housebound stop her from being a positive, encouraging person of service to her church or her community. She always had a smile on her face and a kind word to share, and she would do whatever she could for others. I still find hand-written notes from Mama that I know she wrote to me while sitting in her chair by the window. Those special words of encouragement find their way into my life at the exact time in which I need them.
That chair wasn’t magic, yet it was magical. The love that emanated from it was overflowing. The journeys and the vision Mama had from her window seat were unimaginable, and her reach was far beyond her chair. To this day, I know that my spirit of positivism, my spirit of community service, and my spirit of encouragement all stem from my mom. I can still feel her constant inspiration and encouragement flowing—from Mama’s Chair.