WHY MY NEIGHBOR WANTED CHAIRS WITH HOLES—AND WHAT I LEARNED TOO LATE

My old neighbor asked me to buy 2-3 plastic chairs for his yard—the ones with holes in the middle.

I couldn’t find that exact kind of chair, so I bought the usual ones instead.

He didn’t say anything, but I noticed he was upset. Any idea why there are holes in plastic chairs anyway?

Are they that important?

At first, I laughed it off. I mean, it’s just a chair. Who gets emotional over a plastic chair?

But my neighbor, Mr. Dalen, wasn’t the kind of guy who got worked up over nothing. He was in his late 70s, soft-spoken, always wearing this tan fishing hat, even though I never once saw him fish. He’d been living alone since his wife passed five years ago. I’d help him out sometimes—grab groceries, fix his back fence, stuff like that. So when he asked me for a simple favor, I was more than happy to do it.

But when I dropped off those regular white patio chairs—no holes—he gave me a quiet thank-you, then kind of stood there, staring at them like they were strangers who’d shown up to the wrong house.

I asked, “Is everything okay?”

He nodded. “Yes, yes. Appreciate you, son.”

But something in his voice was tight. Off.

That night, I couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t about the chairs, not really. I felt like I’d missed something.

So the next day, I asked him if he wanted me to return them and keep looking for the other kind. He hesitated.

“You know what those chairs are for?” he finally asked.

I shrugged. “Sitting?”

He gave a dry laugh. “Rain.”

“Rain?”

He pointed to the middle of the lawn. “I used to sit out here with Nadine. She loved the rain. Said it made everything feel alive again. We’d sit under a big umbrella, coffee in hand, and just listen. So I got those chairs with the holes. Because the rain would come down, and the water would drain right through. We’d never sit in a puddle.”

He looked at the new chairs I’d brought. “These ones’ll pool. Not the same.”

My throat got tight. I had no idea.

“I can find the right ones,” I said quickly. “Let me check more stores.”

He shook his head. “No need. Was just a thought. Memories, that’s all.”

But it wasn’t just a thought.

A few days later, I noticed something else. His lawn hadn’t been mowed. That was strange—he was meticulous about his grass. Then I spotted his mailbox overflowing. I knocked a few times, but no answer.

The next morning, I went over again. Still nothing. So I called a wellness check.

Turns out Mr. Dalen had fainted in his kitchen. Dehydration and exhaustion. They took him to the hospital. He was okay, thankfully, but it shook me up.

While he was recovering, I went out of my way to find those exact chairs—white, with the circular holes in the middle. Took me two counties and a random roadside hardware store that didn’t even take cards, but I found them.

I brought them home, cleaned them up, and set them in his backyard just like he’d want.

When he came back from the hospital a few days later, he stopped short the moment he saw them. He didn’t say anything for a long time. Just stood there, lips pressed tight, eyes blinking a little too fast.

Then he sat down. Closed his eyes. The sky was overcast that day, just a whisper of drizzle starting up. He didn’t move.

“Would you like some coffee?” I asked.

He smiled without opening his eyes. “Black. Just like Nadine made it.”

We sat there in silence, the rain tapping lightly through the holes of those chairs, draining into the earth.

And I finally understood—it was never about the chairs.

It was about the way people hold onto small things when they’ve lost big things. Those holes? They were a memory. A way to still feel close to someone who wasn’t there anymore. To recreate even the tiniest piece of a moment they used to love.

So if someone asks you for something specific—even if it seems strange—don’t dismiss it. There’s usually a story behind it. A reason deeper than what they’re saying out loud.

We all carry memories in odd-shaped containers.

Sometimes it’s a song. Sometimes it’s a smell. And sometimes… it’s a plastic chair with a hole in the middle.

❤️ If this story touched you, share it with someone who understands the beauty in small things.

👍 Like it if you’ve ever found meaning in something that seemed meaningless at first.