The heavy Texas cedar chest sat right up against the foot of her iron bed, blocking the bottom drawers of the dresser.

It was five feet long, made of thick red cedar, with dark iron handles on each end that Mama’s father had forged back in the thirties.

If the church charity truck was coming Tuesday after the funeral to haul away her bedroom furniture, I had to clear the space around it first.

I grabbed the iron handle on the left end and pulled with both arms, but the chest didn’t move an inch.

I tried sliding the heavy chest across the floorboards, but the rubber feet under it stuck fast to the wood.