#7: The Red Leather Chair
For you, dear reader, to begin to see this chair as I see it, I must first welcome you into my grandparents’ house, where this chair resides.
You walk up the front porch steps. As you open the front door and step into the living room, you are faced with what was once a large and spacious room. It is still large now, but it is no longer spacious. A sideboard takes up one wall, with cupboards either side of it. The fireplace is adorned with various sculptures and decorations, and the sofa facing this large fireplace is surrounded by piles of books, threatening to fall on your head at any moment. As your eyes adjust to the unusual darkness of the room and take in the multitude of objects that are piled on top of each other, your eyes eventually rest on what has been right in front of you the whole time, but isn’t quite so interesting to look at as everything else crowding in the room: the red leather chair.
This chair is a sanctuary. The eye of the storm. I sit and, as I am now while writing this, I tuck my legs beneath me, curling up, lifting my feet off the floor. In this position, I pick up the book beside me, and the 2B pencil, and begin my reading. I have escaped the chaos that is this house, without truly leaving, finding an hour or two of space and calm.
This chair is a sanctuary for memories: it belonged to my grandfather, who passed away early this year.
Viewed objectively, it is simply a piece of furniture, an object with a practical use. In my subjective view, however, it holds special resonance. We both shared a love of reading, and it was in this chair that many books were consumed. As I sat reading, he would wander by, maybe offering up another book for my perusal. Often before I had woken up, he read the paper here, every morning.
These are intangible qualities, and they are personal associations that I have with this object. For others, does this object hold any importance? Intangible qualities are always subjective.
Now, I do not wish to part with this chair. I will quite happily take it home with me. But should we be so attached to objects for their intangible qualities? Is this just another materialistic aspect of our world? The intangible qualities of the object are what is important, and they are not physical, they do not follow the materialistic principle.
Yet if we lost the object on which our intangible memories originate, what becomes of those memories?
Do we lose them?
The object becomes so much more precious when we attach our memories to it of someone we have lost. It becomes something that you have a choice to hold onto, unlike the person who has gone. You cling to what you can, because we all fear losing and forgetting.
This aspect of grieving goes much deeper than simple materialism. In fact, it is the opposite, because you are holding onto the object solely for its intangible qualities, and not the material, physical qualities that it was made for. The question that then follows is of when to let go of the object. How do you know when it is the right time? When will you know that you will still retain the intangible elements even as you let go of the physical object? Finding that balance is a difficult task.
Eleanor has finally let go of her super long hair. For me, I am not yet ready to say goodbye to the red leather chair. While hers was a symbolic act in taking the next steps to grow up, mine is still in the process of grieving a loss. Letting go will come in time, I must believe that, but not yet.
I have more memories to reminisce first, and I still have a number of books to read.
