My father’s red chair

He called it red, but its color was closer to rose, or perhaps mauve. If it had also been a camera we would have a fascinating, sometimes humorous and ultimately sad documentary of the final years and days of a gentle man’s life. Purchased from a discount chain when he moved to the retirement center at age 90, it, along with a love seat and desk, were the only furniture he every bought for himself after my mother died. A model of frugality,...

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