By Dante A. Murray
The empty wheelchair came back from the hospital in a clumsy-looking, partially folded posture and was placed in a small arched alcove between two doors.
One door had stairs leading down into a storage area in the basement, while the other stairs went up into the attic.
Through the months the wheelchair was home to an endless variety of hats and coats, a moose head, and a cold case of Coors Lite.
I slowly, gently carried that chair up into the attic saying, “Come on, Gramps, let’s go cast for some trout, remembering the sunlight dance on the pooled stream water.”
Beautifully written and glad Grandpa doesn’t need the chair.
A wonderful story of a grand-sons love for his grand-father who never returned from the hospital, it took the grand-son awhile to adjust to that fact and then took the wheelchair to the attic, where he and grand-father could share their memories.
A nice, quiet, heart-warming yet bittersweet comment on a loved one, with fond memories.
I really enjoyed the “in-between” of the basement vs. attic, grief vs. joy of memories. A beautifully conceived tale.
Thank you all for your comments and feedback on my story.