The Empty Chair

You want to know if I was happy? That depends on which year you are asking about. When I was twenty, I believed love would wait. I thought a beautiful woman would remain beautiful forever, sitting beside the telephone, waiting for a man who was always almost home. Yes... There was someone. Her name does not matter now. Or perhaps it is the only name that matters. She used to leave the hallway light on. I used to complain about the electricity. Funny... I spent my whole life trying to keep the lights on, then came home one evening and found the whole house dark. I had a key in my pocket, a name upon the door, but no one waiting on the other side anymore. You can spend your whole life becoming important, and still come home to an empty chair. So learn the names of the people who love you, and be there when they need you there. Every medal will fade in a drawer, every crowd will forget what they praised you for. You can spend your whole life becoming important, but love remembers who stayed. Money? Yes, I made some. Not enough to feel rich, but far too much to admit I was lonely. I bought a larger house. Then larger windows. Then curtains so the neighbours could not see inside. That is what success does when you misunderstand it. It gives you more rooms in which to avoid yourself. I had a desk made of walnut, a watch from Switzerland, and a telephone that never stopped ringing. But on Sundays... On Sundays, I would lift the receiver just to make certain the line was still working. I knew the price of everything, the value of almost none. I counted every battle won, but not the people gone. You can spend your whole life becoming important, and still come home to an empty chair. So learn the names of the people who love you, So learn the names of the people who love you, and be there when they need you there. Every medal will fade in a drawer, every crowd will forget what they praised you for. You can spend your whole life becoming important, but love remembers who stayed. Work? Work is useful. It gives the morning a reason to arrive. But do not confuse being needed with being loved. Your employer may say the company cannot survive without you. Do not believe him. No, no... I am serious. The week after I retired, someone younger sat in my chair. By Friday, they had forgotten how I took my coffee. But my daughter... My daughter remembered every birthday I missed. Every school play. Every Sunday dinner where my place remained empty until the food went cold. Children do not remember why you were busy. They only remember that you were not there. Do I regret it? Regret is a strange visitor. It does not knock when you can still change something. It waits until the house is quiet. Then it enters with its own key. I would give back the office, the title beneath my name, the people standing when I entered, the photographs beside the famous. I would give back every late-night victory, every deal I was too proud to lose, for one ordinary Tuesday... Her coat hanging by the doorway, her shoes beside the stairs, her voice calling from the kitchen, “Are you coming home tonight?” And this time... I would say yes. You can spend your whole life becoming important, and still come home to an empty chair. So learn the names of the people who love you, and be there when they need you there. Let the telephone ring without answering, let someone else become the man of the year. Because the world will continue without you, but somebody may need you near. Every medal will fade in a drawer, every crowd will forget what they praised you for. You can spend your whole life becoming important, but love remembers who stayed. Love remembers the hands that held on. Love remembers who came when they called. The world may remember your name for a moment... But love remembers who stayed. Was it worth it? Ask the empty chair.