by Cindy Walker Burton

From Parlor to Living Room

During the 19th century due to high mortality rates and the 1918 flu pandemic, the parlor (living room) of a home was frequently used for deceased family members during wakes and visitations prior to burial. Parlors had a somber reputation. Eventually, funeral homes managed all aspects of the deceased. Print media (notably “The Ladies Home Journal”) and interior designers sought to reclaim parlor space for the living. A rebranding emerged, and the term living room was chosen to promote a cheerful lifestyle centered on family togetherness and leisure. The lens was refocused to reflect life and vitality, as opposed to death and finality.

All Came and Went

As I mulled over the words living room in my living room, memories came rushing back about my childhood living room. I shared it with my parents and two older brothers from the age of two until I was 18. I recalled friends and visitors that came and went, family that came and went, life that came and went, time that came and went. The living room remained.

Circle of Life

My childhood living room hosted graduations, celebrations, achievements, bereavement, homecomings, homegoings, announcements, denouncements, appointments, disappointments, veneration, and generations. It housed my circle of life.

The Living Room That Built Me

The living room changed from being a play room to a t.v./game room to the room where I left for college to the room where Mom tearfully said, “You can always come home” to the room I entered as a U.S. Marine to the room I visited with my only child to the room I entered as a divorced single mother to a makeshift hospital room for my father to a hospice room where he died to the room where my mother was in a wheelchair to the room I became a caregiver to the room where I learned I’d be a grandmother to the room where I last photographed my mother to the room where she left on a gurney to the room where my mother’s beloved cat was adopted to the room I cleared out to the last room I would visit at my childhood home. That living room built me.

Blanket and Diary

The last time I was in that living room was May 2023. The air was so heavy with memories that it felt like a blanket threatening to smother me rather than to comfort me. Tears poured like rain through my pain. The living room walls closed in as the emptiness enfolded me. I was ensconced in silence – the loudest silence I had ever known. That living room had long been the confidential diary of my family. Now it was a blank page.

When I left the living room on that final day, I took nothing and I left forever. But I kept the memories from the living room that built me.