Yesterday, due to a need to reorganize and lack of space, we bid farewell to a good family friend. . . the loveseat.

I met the loveseat over 15 years ago when I visited my husband’s bachelor pad for the first time. Dougie inherited the loveseat from a former roommate. As we loaded it up in the truck on the way to Goodwill, Dougie began to reminisce about the parties, the people and all the “love” the loveseat had seen. Immediately I put my hands over my ears and began to sing, “la la la la, I am not listening to Dougie.”

After I bargained my way in to the bachelor pad on a permanent basis (home cooking and a comfy blue couch were my bargaining chips) the loveseat became my official spot for TV watching, book reading, cat snuggling and college studying.

Ten years ago we moved from our cozy Riverside bungalow to the burbs. New house meant new furniture so loveseat and blue couch were shuffled to the basement.  Suddenly the leather cushions that saw so much action in the 80s had become toy collectors, cat beds and baby jungle gyms.   That is until Christmas came along, turning the forgotten piece of furniture in to family history.

Every Christmas my house is filled to capacity as my brother, sisters, nieces, nephews, Dad and Stepmom all come filing in to celebrate the holiday.  We eat a snacky brunch fit for a king and then retreat downstairs for present-opening and laughs.  Though no one really knows how it started or why it’s stuck. . . everyone assumes the same position.  Invisible assigned seating.  Dad dons his Santa hat and perches in a chair near the only end table in the room (perfect for endless cups of coffee).  I take my position as official gift-Elf and everyone else drifts in to their spot.   My younger sisters, Tracy and Lucy, always sit side by side on the loveseat.

To say these two are close is an understatement.  Born a mere 15 months apart, these ladies are best buddies.  As the youngest of five siblings by several years, Tracy and Lucy share a bond that would rival any set of twins.  Growing up they often lost their individuality as we simply referred to them as, “the babies,” and later, “the girls.”  As adults their looks convey entire sentences and they often speak a language the rest of us don’t understand.  Over the years as they started to bring significant others to the party, they held firm to their loveseat real estate.  Husbands and partners were given a place close by but no one would dare park their tushy between the girls.

In the last 10 years we’ve experienced a lot of changes in our little family.  This year was especially challenging.  Dad fought cancer, Tracy had a baby and Lucy battled a stubborn blood disorder.  We came *this close* to pushing back our celebration because Lucy had just been released from the hospital.  But we didn’t.  Sitting on the loveseat this year were two very tired sisters, one from new motherhood and one from surgery.  Shoulder to shoulder, they were leaning in, trying to hold each other up.  ‘Cause that’s how they do.

Tracy, Lucy, I hope you’re not too upset with me.  It will delight you to know that as Dougie and I were moving your sacred Christmas seat out of the basement by ourselves, my ankle became crushed at one point sending a seering pain through my leg.  The loveseat didn’t go without a fight and I’m pretty sure I heard it say, “that one was for my ladies!”

I’ve got 351 days till our next Christmas celebration.  Ladies. . . I promise to find you a fitting replacement.  How do you feel about matching recliners?