Friday night was the third Friday we played pinochle without my dad sitting across the table from me. Someone was sitting in his chair, but it did not matter who occupied his seat. The emptiness permiated the entire house, as did the smell of all of the flowers from his funeral. My sister and I celebrated our January birthdays together in February with our traditional family meal and cake for dessert. It was noticeably quiet. Our dad was not there to celebrate with us. Somehow, the food did not taste as good this year….

As time moves on, yes, it moves on, though it feels like it should stand still, as I look across the livingroom at the reclining chair where my dad previously sat and laughed, cried, relaxed, and freely offered advice to his family, I realize that instead of feeling sad and longing for my dad to come around the corner with his walker and fill that empty chair with his body, smile, and magnetic personality, I can look at that empty chair, as well as the one at the table, and see in my minds eye the memories of his life. Of the good times, laughter, sadness, and discussions of lessons learned. That empty chair contains all the memories my mind will produce for me to enjoy.

I am grateful for the memories of Dad and I playing Cribbage at the table. Of times as a small child, him patting my back as I cried because of a tummy ache or other sickness. Of the time helped me set up my first checking account at age 16. Of the time he cried over his Mom’s death at age 70. Of the time I laughed at him as a preteen looking over and seeing him close his eyes while taking that initial bite of a hotdogs. Of his shaking hand as he tries to fill his fork with food from his dinner plate and move it to his mouth before the shaking causes the food to fall back onto the plate before reaching his mouth. Of all of the hugs and I love yous from him as he sat in either of those chairs.

Every time I look at those empty chairs, the good memories bring a smile to my face and help heal my broken heart.

Dad passed away toward the end of January. We miss him, but we believe he is in a better place and are happy that he is no longer suffering.