… is me: the final post

It comes to an end.

The saga of my chair being stolen, please don’t tell me it wasn’t, from the door at the airplane is done. For better or worse, it’s done. I have letters to write, I have complaints to make, I have compliments to send, but that’s simply wrapping it up.
When I got home I spoke to Ruby and Sadie and explained everything that happened to us. They already understood how hard the trip was because we came home to a bouquet of flowers welcoming us safely home. But now armed with the facts, the physical and the emotional ones, I asked them to come up with a way of cleansing the chair from the touch and presence of the woman who had sat in it.
They were all for it.
We held the ceremony last night.
I don’t know if it worked.
I haven’t sat back in it yet.
But I do know that we all tried, we all cared, and we all were brought together.
We needed to be.
Because I have been traumatized and, to be honest, I don’t know if our little ceremony was for the chair or for me. And what people will never understand is, much of the time, the chair is me.
I am not my chair, but my chair most definitely is me. And it is that me that was there last night, us together, hoping for a bit of a miracle. I want to be alone in my chair.
But we’ll see what the morrow brings.
(Thank you for enduring the story of what happened, this is the final post in that series.)
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