“Doesn’t the living room look great?” my mom asked as we stood in the doorway of Nana and Cha’s house. 

      My eyes darted around to every new object in the room, triggering my heart to immediately sink. The walls were freshly painted with a light gray that showed no signs of life. A large sectional lined the back wall, the three sun windows backdropped behind it as dark gray curtains blocked the light from shining through. The tv stood on a cabinet painted white with intentional markings to fit the rustic vibe that was the new “in”.

     I took one step deeper into the room, peering around the corner, hoping with everything in me that the blue chair stood in the same place. Although he was gone, the blue chair had always been a reminder of my grandfather. Finding him in the chair after racing up the driveway after three o’clock on a spring afternoon just in time to watch the Red Sox game. Or the days where he would sit in his chair and pitch balled up socks to me as I stood with a gallon Coke bottle as a bat. The homemade baseball would soar high above the ceiling fan, landing on the other side of the checkered couch, and I’d be imagining myself hitting a homerun out of Fenway as I raced around the living room. January through December; rain, sunshine, sleet, or snow; Cha was always found in the blue chair. 

     The blue chair no longer stood on the grainy dark carpet taped down to allow for his walker to roll. Instead, a lustrous, brown leather recliner was in its place, sitting on top of a new, woven cream carpet. There were no more possible days of lying across the floor, flailing my arms and legs around in a swimming motion, as Cha sat with one of his many whistles like a lifeguard overseeing the dreamed-up ocean. No longer stood the plump green recliner next to it where I would sit on Cha’s lap, Ritz crackers in hand, listening to him as he brought a storybook to life. Instead, an eyesore of a matching leather recliner that others would call “sleek” and “modern” took its place.

  “Mhmmmm,” I quietly mumbled. 

     The rest of my family continued to “ooh” and “ahh” over the design choices and the new furniture as I stayed quiet. My mind continued to race and my cheeks started to feel as if someone had lit a match against my skin. The heat spread to my entire body and my hands started to sweat. Tears started to flow from my eyes, burning my cheeks as they trickled down. 

    “What’s wrong?” my mom asked, concerned. 

     “Nothing,” I muttered, turning away from her so she couldn’t see my tears. She grabbed me by the shoulders and wrapped her arms around me in a hug that practically swallowed me. My breathing became heavier and the deluge of tears began.

      My mom continued to sooth me and when I exited her warm embrace, the shimmer of a silver picture frame caught my attention. I had been so distracted by the major changes to the room that I hadn’t noticed the new addition that stood on the end table. Inside the elegant frame sat a picture of Cha in his signature blue chair, with a smile that stretched so far it could reach the other side of the world. Although the chair and everything about my childhood memories in the living room had changed, my memory of him and the way that he was able to light up a room never would.