The Chair…

The Chair

It is bigger than the last one.

That’s the first thing.

Metal.

Bolts.

A widened seat that understands

he is growing

even when behavioral metrics

refuse to.

~

We measure his life now

in inches of clearance,

in adjusted straps,

in footrests lowered

one clicking notch at a time.

~

The call came

softly—

a family

with a chair

that was once filled

by immeasurable

laughter.

~

The chair arrives.

Cleaned.

Adjusted.

Blessed

by hands that learned

how to fasten buckles

without looking.

~

I run my fingers

along the armrest—

not to inspect it,

but to feel

what remains.

~

Bray Bray leans forward

when we settle him in.

Tests the width

with his shoulders.

Presses his red curls

against the new horizon

of headrest foam.

~

He knows

about the girl

with long blonde hair

who lightened the air.

His friend,

his duet partner

at parties.

They sang to each other,

in the same cadence,

harmonizing

without translation.

~

Her chair

now holds his weight

the way it once held hers—

with grace and dignity.

~

Outside,

the afternoon keeps moving.

Inside,

I tighten a screw

and feel

the somber arithmetic

of it all—

one chair

crossing the bridge

between them.

~

Tonight,

when I guide him

from the family room

to bed,

the chair hums

like it remembers

another set of hands.

~

I whisper thank you

into the space

between bolts.

Not upward.

Outward—

to the family

who loosened their grip

so my son

could sit taller

in a world

that does not always

make room.

~

The chair is bigger.

Yes.

But what it carries

is larger still.

~

Behind the poem: This one rocked me — I was literally in tears when I wrote it. Bray Bray’s friend Cadence passed away tragically in December. We are friends with the family. When the call came that they would like Bray Bray to have the large activity chair that belonged to their daughter, we felt all of the grief you could imagine, all over again.

At the same time, it was also their way of carrying Cadence’s legacy forward through Bray Bray— and we know she is looking down on him and smiling. They really were two peas in a pod, communicating in their own way whenever they were together.

Photo: Bray Bray & Cadence

This is one of those poems I wish I never had to write— I am tearing up again and shaking as I type these words. So it’s best I just leave it at this: Cadence, this one’s for you…

~

That’s all from me — Chris B.