Evolution of a Room

This is for The Red Dress Club.


The prompt: Think of a room from your past.  It can be any type of room at all.


This room. With fancy pocket doors. Just off the living room. 
It may have been considered a parlor once. Before my grandmother died. Before I was born. 

When I was growing up.  This was my grandfather's room. It smelled of old man and pipe tobacco. 
He put eye bolts through the beautiful pocket doors. So he could lock himself in at night. And lock everyone out when he left. It was an empty room after he died. 

 My brother moved back home after a serious illness. The room became his. Filled with computer and books and cigarette smoke. The doors were no longer locked. But often closed. 
He finally moved into his own home. 

Then my mother chose to make it her room. With her bed and television. The curtain closed.  It took on the smell of alcohol and old woman and urine. She broke her hip in  this room. She chose to stop living. After she died, the room was closed. 

For a while. 

Now. This room has a new purpose. The pocket doors are open. The eye bolts removed.  There is an entertainment center. There are chairs. And people. And pets. 
The curtains are open. Light pours in and out. It still smells of cigarette smoke. And pets. And in the spring, when the windows are open, fresh air.

This is where my husband and I talk. Read. Visit with family. 
Be. 

We don't call it a parlor now. 
We call it a Family Room.