I’ve been spending a lot of time on the front porch this past year. We had a vision of making this bland outdoor space inviting and comfortable. A place to sit and relax with each other and the dogs; catch a sunrise; take a nap; enjoy a meal or a beverage; talk; read a book or listen to music. And most of all, in all these things, having a front row seat to enjoy the fruits of nearly two decades of our lives - not just our labor, money, and time,- but also our heart and soul.
Like everything here, it has been an evolutionary process of trial and error to achieve the goal for this space. First, I re-purposed the old freestanding swing to eliminate the base frame and converted it to a hanging porch swing. A coat of paint and new cushion gave this old swing a much-needed refresh. We tried various low-budget rocking chairs over the years but found nothing that felt quite right (literally or aesthetically). Eventually those were ravaged by the elements and ended up on a burn pile.
Most recently, while you were sick, we moved the old futon from the screen porch at the cabin over here so we could lay together and enjoy a nap in the fresh air. We added hanging fake ferns and some flowers in planters for greenery and color. An area rug and a couple of plastic Adirondack chairs completed the ensemble for a time. It wasn’t exactly our vision, but it was functional and affordable; and served an important purpose for you to be able to sit and rest outside during your treatment phase instead of always in the bedroom. We still dreamed and searched catalogs for the perfect swing and rocking chairs but decided that could be something to look forward to for “after”. Unfortunately, it turned out that “after” didn’t mean “after you got better”. And now, for the past 11 months, I have been sitting here on the front porch alone coping with grief and trying to move forward to an “after” without you.
The front porch has been my fortress of solitude during this season of grief; my anchor spot at the nexus where I could co-exist in two worlds: one with you and one without you. This is where I have mourned for the loss of you in both memory of the past and hope for the future. A place where I could sit and rest and recover from the battle; shed tears; cry out in prayer; reflect inwardly; and write. I have risen early in the mornings to look for you in the sunrise. I have listened for your voice in the wind chime and longed to feel your presence beside me in the swing. This is also where I have begun to feel healing in my own body and spirit, and perhaps even the beginnings of a sense of hopeful optimism about the future.
So, I decided to continue our vision and have put my new woodworking skills and tools to use by building two nice cushioned wooden Morris Chairs with footstools along with a matching side table. I think you would approve of the fabric style and colors for the cushions. (The old futon has been re-located to my wood shop/man cave.) I am also thinking I will build a new wooden porch swing to replace the old tubular steel frame model. I re-potted the beautiful poinsettias from my former work colleagues into the whiskey barrel planters and am hoping for a second season bloom from them. The wind chimes from the Garcia’s hangs on the far end and rings its somber melodic tones with the breeze. I love the new look and feel of this space, and I think you would approve.
Some might wonder why I built a second chair when it’s just me here alone. There are several layers to the response. First, there is symmetry and balance in a matching pair of things versus a single. This is true in life as well. Secondly, it provides a place for someone to sit with me: your mom, one of the girls home for a visit, or a perhaps a neighbor or a friend.
Symbolically, for now, it is a place for you to join me, or at least for me to visualize your presence. That notion is comforting; but there is still loneliness in being alone. Perhaps it is also symbolic that, at some point in time, there might be someone else sitting here with me. But for now, that spot is still yours.
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