This is how my daughter will say it happened.
Mom had been talking about getting chairs for the living room so people could visit and talk there. We had a sofa and some uncomfortable and un-upholstered chairs we could put our visitors in, but Mom wanted real stay-a-while chairs. Once she got Dad to get two upholstered side chairs, she wanted more. Large upholstered chairs are expensive, but she hunted until she found a pair while he was out of town and went and bought them just like that. We liked the chairs, and she liked that we liked them. She’d sit there with her computer on her lap and an IKEA floor lamp shining over her shoulder. Hors d’oeuvres and wine on a table in front of her. She seemed very happy. She laughed more. She learned how to use Instagram and post pictures about what maker of whiskey she has poured into her glass that evening. Whiskey enthusiasts like her posts
And then: boom, she’s got a new apartment and wants us to pick out new beds for our new rooms. Now she has an apartment of her own, and I’m really wishing the chairs were still here in the house even if I sort of blame them for my mother leaving. I know with dread I’ll never be the same. I’m one of those kids from a broken home. I am part of a different population in the world. I didn’t choose it, and I don’t know how to be angry at her because all I want her to do is make it alright. Get me out of my pain.