What Once

The room is small, and could realistically be described as cluttered.

It has none of the professional elegance of those my neighbors inhabit in this large and historic building.

I suppose I should be a bit embarrassed about the lack of sophisticated distinction in my current home. However, I admit I made a choice and I have no regrets.

I chose not to relinquish the visible reminders of those who shared my life, including the pictures, the gifts and all the comforting memories left behind when my Anam Cara boarded the ferry.

The white couch is definitely too large for an efficiency apartment, but it was where we sat together when we said goodbye.

It was where he told me how much he loved our home, and how he hoped I would be able to remain there alone. I tried to do that for 8 years, and like to believe he understood when I had to leave.

The small Ethan Allen end table is overcrowded with a dozen (and sometimes more) framed pictures. Each one resurrects a moment in life that could never be forgotten, no matter how fleeting.

While I know (and freely admit,) it is my imagination, there are quiet evenings when one or another of the pictures brings back just a fragment of laughter, or a whispered confidence when I gaze across the room toward the table.

Then, or course, there is the oval green table which totally dominates the small apartment. And despite its impressive dignity, it is certainly not necessary for the apartment's sole occupant.

The remembered family of six will never again dine together, yet four chairs remain empty and waiting in the event a miracle occurs.

And while no longer do I have a home about to be featured in House Beautiful, it is where I find great comfort and joy in the memories of what once was.

And that is still quite important.