It's a rocking chair. Just a rocking chair. But I think it's irreparably broken.
It's the rocker that my Nana bought for me when I was about 4 or so.
She was buying a rocking chair for my mom that Christmas. I had gone shopping with her, as I always did. I remember walking in the dusty storage room above the furniture showroom. I remember Nana choosing my mom's chair. I remember finding mine. It was smaller than all of the others, all wood, no cushion, but very comfortable all the same. I must have been irresistibly cute because Nana bought as well.
It may have been an impulse purchase, but it was a good one. I've used it for the past 30-odd years, give or take the four years I was away at college.
Even now, this chair gets used daily. But today I noticed a huge crack down the middle of the seat, almost sheared through. I moved it out of the living room so that maybe, perhaps, possibly it won't get worse. But I'm afraid that it doesn't matter anyway.
I feel quite silly that I'm crying over my broken rocking chair.
But I am.