That old couch that stood in the living room for years was something I was eager to get rid of. It was worn out, and its once soft pale blue hue had turned somewhere between gray and green. The cushions had lost their firmness, and the wooden frame let out a creaky sound that felt unsettling.
I told my husband, Bruce, to get rid of that couch a thousand times, and his answer was never a ‘no.’ He would assure me he was going to take care of it, but somehow, he never did. This was a bit strange knowing how practical he has always been.
When it eventually started smelling like mold, I was determined to get rid of it myself. “Today is the day,” I told myself as I called the local hauling company.
Luckily, they had an available slot that afternoon, and it seemed like the perfect timing. I hope that when Bruce arrived, he would be glad I did the job without bothering him, but sadly, it wasn’t like that.
The moment he entered the house and noticed the couch wasn’t there, he went into a state of pure panic.
“Where’s the couch?” he started yelling, and I was shocked by his reaction, which I believed was overwhelming.
“Bruce, what’s wrong?” I asked. “The couch was old and smelly, and I never knew it meant so much to you.”
He just looked at me and said, “You’ll never understand how much.”
Bruce was a kind of person who never shared his emotions. He never spoke about his past and his family, so I thought the couch could be a heirloom or something, so I kept asking him about it.
“You need to see it to believe it,” he said as he drove to the landfill, praying our old couch was still there. Luckily, I had the receipt, so the supervisor of the dumping ground let us in.
There, among the piles of garbage waiting to be disposed was the old couch.
Bruce tugged at a corner of the fabric, digging beneath the seat cushions as if he were searching for something important. “Please be here,” he kept repeating. And then, he pulled out an old piece of paper.
“What’s that, Bruce?” I asked.
Feeling relieved, he said it was a treasure map he and his brother drew when they were kids.
“Your brother? I didn’t know you have a brother!”
“I used to have,” Bruce said, “he’s name was Leo, and he’s no longer around.”
It was then that I learned my husband’s brother died when they were still children. He fell from the oak tree in their yard, and Bruce felt responsible for letting the tragedy take place.
It was because of that event that he became withdrawn and unable to express his emotions.
The piece of paper, or the map, was the only memory he had of Leo.
In the days that followed, Bruce shared the story with our kids, telling them about their uncle Leo. He even reached out to the owners of his family’s old home, and asked them if we could visit the house. They were more than happy to welcome us all.
Bruce, the kids, and I visited the house where Leo lost his life.
Memories of Bruce’s childhood came flooding in, and he was finally able to make peace with himself and accept that his brother’s passing wasn’t his fault.
The old couch and the secret it held helped my husband heal.
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Bored Daddy
Love and Peace
