By Sharon (SD) Mac
Every night after Steve went home to be with the Lord, I found myself back in his chair.
It started that first night, when I couldn’t sleep in our bed, couldn’t bear to lay my head where his used to rest. The bed felt too big, too quiet, too final. But his chair… that was different.
His chair still held his warmth.
His scent.
His peace.
It was where he used to sit when we’d talk about our plans…the next project, the next trip, the next dream. It was where he’d sip his coffee in the morning and quietly read. It was the spot where he’d look over at me and smile, like everything in the world was right.
Now it was where I sat at night, wrapped in one of his old shirts, just… breathing. Sometimes crying. Sometimes praying. Sometimes both.
The dogs always knew where to find me. They’d curl up at my feet as if guarding the space between this world and the next. I’d whisper to them, “He’s home now,” but a part of me always whispered back, “So am I.”
Because that chair became home.
Not the house. Not the walls.
That chair — right there — was where I met God in the quiet.
Every night I’d talk to Steve like he could still hear me. Maybe he could. I’d tell him about my day, about how hard it was to drive past the places we used to go, about how the coffee still brewed too much for one person.
I’d say, “Babe, you’d laugh if you saw how the dogs act now,” or, “I still can’t fix the garage light you said you’d get to.”
I’d talk until my words ran out, and then I’d pray. Sometimes I didn’t even have words left — just sighs and tears. And somehow, I always felt something answer back.
Not an audible voice, but that same peace he carried in the hospital room.
That still, steady peace that says,
“You’re not alone.”
That chair became a part of me.
My quiet battlefield.
My space of surrender.
There, I learned that grief isn’t a lack of faith, t’s the proof of love.
It’s the echo of something eternal still living inside you.
I still sit there sometimes, even now.(Moved it to my room and at times, sleep on it)
The house is quieter these days, but that chair still speaks.
It reminds me that love doesn’t leave…it just changes form.
That grace doesn’t rush healing…it sits with you through it.
And that even here, even in the stillness, it is well with my soul.
Soli Deo Gloria!
To God Alone be the Glory
“Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.” -2Timothy 2:3
“Resolved, never to give over, nor in the least to slacken, my fight with my corruptions, however unsuccessful I may be.” -Jonathan Edwards, Resolution, 56
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