The Chair That Rocked My Life

“It is just a chair,” I tell myself.

It is not a person made of flesh and blood, but rather a piece of furniture made of wood and fabric. It has no heart, no pulse, no soul.

And yet to me, it is real. It is part of my family. And I am having a hell of a time letting it go.

This chair, a beautiful charcoal grey wingback rocker from Pottery Barn Kids, came into my life after scouring Craigslist in anticipation of our second son being born. I made a rookie mistake with our first and didn’t purchase one because the price tags on nursery furniture sent me into shock. Not to mention that at the time we lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side of Manhattan that could barely house the stroller, much less another piece of furniture. Big mistake, huge. This time, however, I was going to do it right. We had the space, I had the time to look for a deal, and so on a fateful Friday night my husband headed over to the seller’s house, cash in hand, and brought home our gently used bundle of joy.

Though I fell in love with it immediately, I’d have no way of knowing at the time just how meaningful it would soon become to me, to us. Like many things in parenting, it’s sometimes what we don’t expect that ends up mattering the most. The unprompted hug from an otherwise cranky five-year-old, a stranger who compliments us on how a tantrum is handled, or a certain piece of baby clothing that reminds us of a blissful moment with our newborn amidst the countless sleepless nights. These are the things that fill the baby book in our mind; the one we actually remember. And it is here that the rocker has taken up residence for me.

When our son was born, things were “normal” at first. I would sit in the rocker holding him for hours on end. Feeding, singing, holding, burping. All the while, the chair would rock. Back and forth, back and forth. It was doing its part, and I was doing mine. Somewhere along the way, though, I began to struggle with my part, and my postpartum, as it turns out. PPD took hold of me so tight that it physically hurt to breathe sometimes. The chair became my safe place, and at a certain point I realized it wasn’t me who was rocking the baby, but the chair that was rocking me. Back and forth, back and forth. Thankfully, I got help and worked my way through it, but we would soon learn the chair still had more work to do for us.

A few months later, we found out that my husband had stage III brain cancer. Our son was nine months old at the time, and following my husband’s surgery to remove the tumor, it took about a week and a half for him to be ready to hold Griffin again. But when he was ready, you guessed it—it was in this chair that he sat. I’ll never forget handing him our son and seeing the smiles on both of their faces. Priceless indeed. This chair, sturdy and strong, yet comfortable and soft, was now my husband’s safe place with our son. And he rocked, back and forth, back and forth.

It’s Time to Say Goodbye

But now, it is time for me to say goodbye. Try as I might, my snuggly baby is now an active toddler who has no interest in rocking with me. My husband successfully completed 13 months of treatment for his brain cancer, and his most recent scan was completely clear! We no longer need the support of this chair. We are strong on our own.

It will go to a wonderful family. One that didn’t intend on welcoming a baby quite this soon, but will love and nurture him nonetheless. I can only hope that in this young mother’s nights spent rocking, uncertain of what the future holds, this chair will hold her up just the way it did for us. Back and forth, back and forth.

It is just a chair. But it is also a piece of my family’s story that I will never forget.