Based on 31 community votes, the most popular answer to “The Stranger Who Knew My Dad’s Chair” is “Try to track the woman down” — chosen by 0% of voters.
Category: heartwarming • Theme: 📬 Unspoken Words
I used to know when Dad was home because of the sound of the armchair. The brown leather would creak, then sigh, and the TV stayed on some channel with numbers I never remembered. His armchair was his, everyone knew it. The right armrest was worn flat from his elbow, the cushion dipped like it already knew his weight. At the funeral, people lined up like at the DMV. They said things about his clinic, his late-night calls, how he sat with them in hospital parking lots. One woman waited until most people were gone. She said she met him at Northwestern Memorial, level 4 of the parking structure, third row from the elevator, space 412. November, maybe; she said it felt like the air could crack. She was heading to her own appointment. He saw her crying in her car. He sat on the curb next to her for about forty minutes, she said. Forty minutes she has never been able to give back to someone. She remembered his thermos smelled like cinnamon gum. He never asked why she was crying. I think it was still winter; I remember my coat sleeves were too short. Now the armchair is still here. I moved everything else around it. It is still there. That night, I went home and scrubbed the kitchen sink with a toothbrush. I keep picturing him on that concrete, not in this chair. What would YOU do?
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