Bulky and blue, with worn arm rests, Big Blue, our recliner, takes up a sizable piece of real estate in the enclosed porch. Next to its bulk are two tables, one on either side of it that makes it even wider. It’s almost like having a Cessna airplane parked in the house.

I used to hate that chair. To me, it was an ugly necessity—a chair my husband had  to have. I dreamt of getting rid of it. I rarely sat in it because the seat cushion sagged, making it so low to the floor that I had trouble getting out of it.

And when I visited other homes, I would look around for similar pieces of furniture. But I never saw anything as commanding anywhere else. I guess other people are better at hiding their monstrosities.

 Like a monarch on his throne, my husband felt entitled to that chair. He could sit there for hours, watching TV, reading the paper or catching a nap.

Furniture ads intrigued me—especially Lazy Boy stores. The ads showed recliners that actually looked like furniture and weren’t the size of a Hummer. But somehow, we never replaced Big Blue.

Then my husband became ill, waging a monumental battle with cancer. And the chair took on new meaning. It became his solace, his comforter. The one place he was at ease. He could sit there and sleep if the bed was not comfortable. He was able to entertain himself, too, because the TV was placed strategically in the opposite corner. And the chair was so worn and used that it was okay for him to eat while seated in it.

Big Blue had claimed a special place in our home. And I began to accept the chair. But I still never sat in it. It was Dan’s chair. The few times I tried it, it felt too soft and saggy. The seat seemed to almost graze the floor. And I still dreamt of the chair that would replace it. It would be compact, comfortable and as sleek as a jet.

And then I had surgery. I had to be out of bed all day while I was in the hospital where I had the choice of a straight back chair or worse, the institutional recliner.

So when I returned home after almost two weeks in the hospital, I rejoiced at finally being back in the comfort of familiar surroundings. And to be able to sit on something that wasn’t torture.

At first, I tried to content myself with the roomy arm chair that matches the couch. But I couldn’t put my legs up, and they started to swell. The nurse who came to provide at-home medical care fretted about my swollen legs. She eyed Big Blue. There was the answer to my problems, she said. I must sit in that chair. I protested, telling her that it wasn’t comfortable to me, and that I had problems getting out of it. I was very weak from my hospital stay and still quite ill. So the nurse let me be.

Then came the day when we discovered that a seat cushion we had kicking around the house fit the recliner. The cushion was firm enough and thick enough to actually raise the seat so that I could get out of the chair.

“Oh joy!” The nurse exclaimed. “Now you can sit in this wonderful chair.”

I nestled into its welcoming seat, and elevated my legs. M-m-m. It felt pretty good. Then my ankles shrank down to a normal size. And even better, I could hold my books comfortably on its ample arm rests. When I dozed off, which was mostly what I did, I could actually sleep restfully. And now I could rise from the chair with ease.

Then I developed insomnia. Sleep refused to come until the early morning, sometimes not until after the sun had risen for another day. I tried to sleep in our bed, but hours of discomfort, tossing and turning drove me to the enclosed porch.

 I sat on Big Blue, and I felt her protective arms enclose me, allowing my body to recline and to relax. Sleep started to come easier as she embraced me.

She was waiting to rock me to sleep, to hold me tenderly while I recovered. I began to think about moving her into our bedroom for the nights that stretch into the morning before sleep comes.

 Every now and again, I would catch my husband gazing longingly at Big Blue. When he started calling her my chair, I didn’t argue.

Someday we will find a chair to take her place. It will be welcoming and it will recline. I hope it will be more streamlined than Big Blue. Those are realities.

She is big, bulky and probably not all that pretty. Like a beloved grandma, her beauty comes from what she means to us. Big Blue is there when she is needed.

And finally I love her.