Open Writing

She sat opposite the empty chair.

It was Rodney's chair; large, comfortable and shabby, a bit like Rodney himself. A reminder, as if she needed one, of the emptiness of her life now that Rodney was no longer there. Passed on, dead, gone to a better place, what difference did the word make to the fact that she was alone?

The family had rallied round, missing him almost as much as she did. They were very solicitous and kind.

"Come and live with us mother, you don't want to be on your own. We'll make a nice bed-sit for you and you know how much you love to be with the grandchildren."

Susan was concerned, Roger too; but did she really want to move in with either of them? Leave the house where she and Rodney had lived for so many years, living their lives together, contented for the most part and self-sufficient.

The room was familiar, loved, and each picture and ornament a memory of happy times together. Something bought together, photos of holidays together, furniture chosen together. How well she remembered buying the chair. They'd been young then and had just bought their first house. No more renting now, living in other people's houses. No, their very own home.

She'd been pregnant with Roger at the time, fat and unwieldy. They'd gone one Saturday to the local department store to choose furniture for their living-room. They'd laughed a lot trying out chair after chair, before eventually deciding on the big comfortable armchair. It was covered in chintz, blowsy pink roses and pale green leaves. They'd fallen in love with it. They chose a smaller version of the same design for her.

The chairs had been delivered the following week and she could remember the feeling of excitement and the joy she felt when they arrived and were placed in their first ever living room. Green carpet, with a wooden surround, magnolia paint-work and walls and pink curtains. How lovely it all looked. When Rodney came home he'd taken her onto his lap, bulky as she was, and they'd sat together in the chair talking about the baby they were having.

What memories. What happy times. The children had loved the chair too, taking refuge in it, being read to curled up on Rodney's lap. When they weren't well they'd snuggle up there, comforted by the familiar cosiness of the big armchair.

Over the years the chair had been re-covered several times, following fashion many years too late, but always it had been the same familiar, safe haven for all members of the family.

Dorothy remembered the heartbreak of her mother's death. How she had huddled in the warmth of the chair as in her mother's arms, and how Rodney had helped and supported her through those dark days. Where was he now when she needed him? How would she come to terms without him in her life?

Rousing herself from her reminiscences, Dorothy got up and thought about her future. She made a cup of tea and thought of her empty life to come. She was blessed with reasonable health and a clear mind. She was energetic and only in her late sixties, there must be something she could do to help herself through the days.

She took her cup back to her own chair, turned on the television and let the programme take over. It saved her from thinking and passed the time. There was a local news programme on. The reporter was interviewing someone about 'care in the community'. She became aware as she listened, of the many other people, like herself, who were on their own and often struggling. Many suffered ill-health, desperate poverty and isolation. She realised, as she became more and more interested, how lucky she actually was.

"I must think more positively," said Dorothy to herself, "stop wallowing in my grief. Of course I feel sad and bereft, but it's not the end of the world. Perhaps the time has come when I could do something for other people." Dorothy sat there staring at the television, but with her mind turning over various ideas. She had just finished her tea when the phone rang. It was Susan.

Susan had been worried about her mother. She dreaded the daily calls and her mother's lifeless voice. If her mother wouldn't stay with them and wouldn't go out and meet people, she would just fade away and become ill. They all missed Rodney but they had their lives to get on with. The trouble with her parents had been that they had done everything together. They both had the same friends, the same interests and belonged to the same circles. They took their holidays together; Dad had never had nights out with the "boys" and mother with the "girls."

Susan prepared herself for the usual forced tone of her mother's voice and was surprised at her cheerfulness. For a change she spoke more of Susan and the twins instead of herself and sounded really interested in their welfare. When Susan suggested that they might come down on Sunday to take her mother out to lunch, she was taken aback by the enthusiastic response.

"That's a lovely idea" said Dorothy, "I want to talk to you about the future and I'd be so pleased to see you all. I've decided it's time I started to do something with my life again and I would love your help and advice. I shall ring Roger too and see if he has any ideas. Maybe he would be free to come down and then we could all go out together."

Stimulated by the thought of a visit and by her own sudden change of thinking about the future, Dorothy sat down in Rodney's chair. She leant back in it, taking comfort from its familiarity and warmth.

"I can almost feel Rodney approving of the new me," she thought, stretching out her hand for the paper and pencil that Rodney had always kept by the chair. "Now let me think. Work in the hospital visiting lonely people, the library trolley, caring in the person's own home, well any of those things sound quite exciting. Or what about helping with Meals on Wheels, as the non-driver, or being a Friend of the local hospital, or---------"

Dorothy sat on in the chair, daydreaming about the busy days she was going to have in the future. She stared across at her own chair. "I think I might see if either of the twins would like that when they go up to University. I really don't need it any more."