The Room

It has been a calendar full of days since the boy entered the room, dumped his bags on the floor and plopped onto the bed for a power nap. This very brief, impromptu trip home served one purpose-the boy required yet another visit to the dentist to repair a chipped front tooth. Once the incisor was bonded, making it whole again, this student was re-deposited on the grounds of the university. Who could have known that this would be the last time the boy graced this space with his physical presence?

This particular room is of average size and comes complete with a smallish closet and one south-facing window. The furnishings are few-a queen-size bed, five-drawer dresser, a desk and a chair on wheels. The once Bomber blue walls have been slathered in a somber gray, a shade that matches the aura that drapes itself over the house, often coloring the mood of its inhabitants. Two large, black-framed photographs that once adorned the walls were never re-hung after the paint dried, however, there is a plan to complete this task in the near future. The room is tidy and dust-free. A well-worn black, blue and gray striped comforter cuddles the mattress. The bed sheets have been laundered, washing away any lingering scent of the boy who once lounged, studied, slept and dreamt between these cottony, woven threads. On sunny winter days, the blackout shade that normally conceals the window is flung wide open, inviting light and warmth into an otherwise dark and depressed space. There are a few photographs of the boy scattered throughout the room. One is a collage of wallet-sized school photos, Kindergarten through twelfth grade, a sort of visual age-progression of his growth. Another image, captured nearly twenty years ago, is of a smiling father and his toddler son snapped during the elder’s cancer pause.

A chunky, space-hogging computer rests somewhat sad and lonely atop the desk. The boy spent oodles of life-snatching hours tap, tap, tapping away at the keyboard in a Herculean attempt to conquer some online game. These rapid-fire clicks confirmed that there was indeed life behind the (frequently) closed door. Today, only an eerie kind of quiet seeps from the room. The faint blue light that once flickered from the base of the monitor has now been extinguished. There simply is no logical reason to keep this somewhat massive machine connected to its electrical source. The cord has been unplugged much like the cord that once tethered the boy to this lifetime.

The boy also spent time in another room located about thirty miles away. This home away from home, part and parcel of the landscape of a rural, picturesque, idyllic college town, was located on the third floor of a dormitory built of stone. This somewhat small and cramped space also served as a place where he studied, slept and just hung out, but unlike his bedroom, these quarters were shared. The boy had been co-existing in this room for the better part of six months, save for time spent at home during Thanksgiving and the school’s interminable winter break. He returned to this place of higher learning in late January, just about five weeks before an unexpected, unfathomable and life-altering event would occur.

A trusted source has revealed that the boy’s father, a lovely soul who resides just beyond the veil, visited this particular dorm room on March 6th, 2018.  He most likely arrived around the time the boy slumped to the fake wood floor, slipping into unconsciousness. As his son prepared to make the transition from one life to another, the father was there to escort him home. Once the pair arrived on the other side, it is likely that a huge reunion ensued as the boy was re-connected with grandparents, great-grandparents, and other members of his spirit family. It seems possible that two former childhood friends also attended this gathering, having made their own premature transition in the latter months of 2015.

Back on earth, the boy’s mother remains in human form, having been left behind by her son and one-time spouse. Though time was up for the father and child, it seems obvious that mom’s earthly mission is not yet complete. She still inhabits the cozy, ranch-style house where she and the boy shared their earthly journey, however, an emptiness now permeates every crevice of this residence. This place that was once full of hope and visions of a future for her only offspring, now serves as a constant reminder that the boy will never again live within its walls.

For the most part, the boy’s room remains much as it was on that Tuesday afternoon one year ago when he scooped up his bags and walked towards the door, intent on a punctual arrival at the dentist’s office. It is extremely likely that just before the boy headed down the hall towards the garage, he stopped, turned and took one last sweeping glance of his space-a sort of quick and final OCD inspection confirming that he had gathered all of his meager belongings. As his feet finally crossed the threshold, the boy had no idea that he would never again return to this room.


9 thoughts on “The Room

  1. Oh, Joan. This is stunning. Quite literally. This morning, you gave a thumbs-up to my Facebook post celebrating Emily’s birthday. When I saw it, I almost sent you an immediate message… to think that you would celebrate my kid in your kid’s absence touches me deeply. I have not forgotten Mark. I have not forgotten that our paths as moms have diverged. I have not forgotten that you walk among us with a burden so heavy I cannot imagine it. Please keep sharing your story with us. We’re all just walking each other home and, as I’ve said many times before, it’s an honor to share the path with you.

    • Thank you. Your words beautiful moved me to tears. And you are correct. We ARE just walking each other home. And on that walk, it is our duty to lift one another up. Thanks for reading and for being a friend. I greatly appreciate it.

  2. Joan
    I am always grateful to read whatever you write, you are so talented and somehow, I believe when I am reading you can see my tears, laughter or sarcastic grin. My heart continues to ache every time I am visited by a memory or a passing remark from our work family. I believe in your writing , passion and the way you embrace with your whole heart. Love you girl!

    • Thanks, Peg. I appreciate your kind and beautiful words. You always have had a HUGE heart, and obviously still do. I hope you are well. Love you and miss you. Hello to Jenny.

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