The couch

      My mother never saw herself as the rest of us did. She did, however, notice what she lacked or what she hoped to have. For this reason she never saw herself as being a charitable person though she spent many days saying how she wished she could do more service for others. How she wanted to be more "Christ like".
Despite what she may have thought about herself she was in fact one of the most charitable ladies I have ever met.
     As I sift through my childhood memories, a deep royal blue sectional makes its way to the forefront of my mind. It stands as a witness to the kindness and selflessness of my mother.

     As far as I know that couch was always around. I can't put a finger on how it even came to be there in the middle of our comfortably cluttered living room. It took up so much space with its oversized rounded cushions and yet we never seemed to find it in the way. I suppose that was becuase if you couldn't get around it, jumping, rolling or climbing over it was always a plausible option.

     The aged old saying of "if walls could talk" echos true for the stories this worn couch could tell. Just like the woman in whose house it dwell, this couch sat always open, never judging. Everyone was always welcome in Gail's house. Everyone was always welcome on that couch.

     On my sixteenth birthday that couch stood between me and my hidden party guests. As they jumped out from behind it I grabbed it's puffy back cushion for support as I startled, tumbled forward in delight.
     Those fully stuffed cushions spent many a nights holding me in the crevice where the back and the seat met. Huddled safely there I would pour out my heart and amid my terrible adolescent troubles I felt comfort in its embrace. As tears would spill onto its fabric rolling down, only slightly getting absorbed, I would find peace.
     The sectional formed the shape of a "C" there in the middle of the room and if you laid down just right three people could spend the night head to toe on that couch without having to take out the awkward spring filled "pull out" bed. Many a teenager spent the night on that couch. My sweet mother never said someone could not stay the night. If someone needed a place to go this couch was offered up as a fit option.
     After a long 9 hour road trip, that horrible "pull out" bed was the most comfortable place in the world as my college friends and I would crash literally onto it's hard metal frame. Everyone feeling like this couch was their very own... like this home was theirs as well.
     That couch was the perfect place to sit and run lines for my upcoming theatre show. It was a perfect landing base for me when my brother "laid me out" while practicing his defensive football moves. It served the same purpose when he started playing with the idea of doing wrestling. It caught our trembling bodies as we laughed uncontrollably the day my brother tried on his x-small wrestling outfit which needless to say led to the end of his wrestling days.
     I sat on the couch simply amazed the day my brother flawlessly sang "Bring Him Home" before trying out for a dinner theatre show. And there I sat as my adorable mom sang karaoke to "Girls just want to have fun" on one of infamous theatre/choir kid hang out nights.
     The couch was the unmentioned star of many a school movie projects. We would jump and dance along it's cushions reciting lines from Shakespeare hoping to induce laughter from our classmates while still impressing our teacher with our wit and cleverness.
     It held us as we sat in the early hours of the morning devising plans as to how to put toilet paper all over the "cute boy around the corner's" home. Giggling we would wait for the toilet paper to be returned to our front yard as we laid out on the couch. We would talk and bond.
     That couch stood witness to the development of many friendships. It watched as friends grew closer, bore their souls and learned what love was about. It held teenagers who longed for comfort and acceptance. And it gave it to them. That couch gave everyone who needed it, a place to belong. Yes, just as my mom did.
     My mom held us there on that couch many times. She would hold us and sing "You are my sunshine." She would hold us and tell us that we were her babies, her "ninos." She would hold us and tell us we were the best things that happened to her. She even was able to hold her granddaughter on that couch. She held her and told her how she looked like her. And kissed her chubby little cheeks. There on that couch so many felt Mom's love and comfort. It was a catalyst for her to talk, bond and connect with so many people. There so many people felt our Savior's love through my darling mother.

     The day my mother's spirit left her body I sat on that couch for what would be one the last times. It supported my tired body while my dearest friends Danny and Taylor sat beside me supporting my broken heart. I sat there, paralyzed into a trance until my mom's body was taken out of her house.

That couch never let me down. It was always there. It meant more then words could express to me and so many others.
Just as my sweet mother meant so much to me, and so many others.
She supported so many people. She gave what she had without question. And for many all she could offer was a place to sit and for her to listen.
That couch witnessed many things. It witnessed the kindness and love of Gail.
And though she may have never known it she was beyond charitable. She was life changing to so many.

She was a support to so many just like her simple blue sectional that filled up her living room. And her legacy will forever live on.