Everything Will Be Alright

It was difficult to go back into that room. My son had passed three Halloweens ago and I kept his room shut since then. But I had to. To put his things away for now at least. Thank goodness he has no pets in his room. No goldfish or other such animals that would require my rescue. That would have been…that wouldn’t have been easy.

I don’t think I would have been ready all those years back. Nor am I really all that sure that I am now. What I do know is that it must be done. As of now I have five boxes. They’ll house his things. His bedding will be stripped and placed with his things. Toys will be taken upstairs as well. Along with anything else that will remind me of him. It sounds so easy when I put it in a list like this. Yet, my heart felt so heavy as I approached his bedroom door with all the stickers on it. Little warnings to tell me to keep out. Along with pretty much everyone else. A fifteen-year-old boy unwilling to give up his silly childhood stickers even then.

He will never be able to replace them now. The thought caused my heart to hurt as I reached over to the door. Bracing myself as I pushed it open to his bedroom. His smell was running past me like he used to when he ran for the bus. So strong that tears ran down my cheeks. Scrubbing my fists over my eyes, I hurried on with my tasks. Quickly pack things into boxes as quickly as possible. All the items that belonged to my beloved son were so hard to handle. Hard to touch. Like I shouldn’t be doing this and that I should just leave it where it was.

Oh, how much I wanted to.

The task still had to be done, and I pressed on. Putting toys into the first box. The ones that I remember him buying. Or me getting for him for Christmas as well as birthdays. Old stuffed animals. Action figures. Some plastic guns along with fake knives. Stuff that he played superheroes with his friends with. I never understood the point of all of that. And I know that I never will. Tears flowed once more as I put every single toy into the box. Closing it once I was done. Putting his clothes into a box was more difficult. Seeing them and knowing he would never wear them had hurt. A whole lot worse than handling his toys ever had been. This took me a whole lot longer to put away. Remembering how he seemed to outgrow his clothes so quickly. Getting annoyed that I would have to pay for more jeans and shirts. What I would give to pay for more of his stupid ripped jeans that he loved so damned much now.

I would do anything for that.

Soon as that was done, I moved onto everything else. His posters, comics, other books, and his computer. Which took a little longer to put back into his computer box. But I managed to do that without breaking it. Soon as I got to his bed, I sighed. It was unmade like it always had been when he got up in the morning. That Halloween morning I was considering scolding him for it. Telling him off for not fixing his bed. It feels so stupid now to be so mad about something so minor. Pushing that thought to the side, I got the blankets folded and into the box. When I did that, something dropped onto the floor. A light thump right next to my feet. Picking it up I realized it was his journal. I had no idea he even bought himself one. I know that I hadn’t bought him one. And I don’t remember anyone else buying him one.

At first, I thought of not opening it. As I didn’t want to disrespect my late son’s memory. Curiosity got the better of me however and I opened it. Turning each page slowly as I read his every thought. Feeling like he was in the room with me. It was…it was so nice after everything that had happened. Him and his friends were doing their last year of trick-or-treating. My poor baby boy was dressed up as Homelander from that new superhero T.V show. And some drunk bastard hadn’t seen him crossing the street when she turned the corner. Hitting him.

He died before I could even show up.

His journal talks about him finally getting his costume together on the last page he wrote. Telling how happy he was that I helped him make it. That he missed when I made him costumes. And that he loved me so much. I sat on his bed as I started bawling over him. Over his words about me. Sniffling, I muttered,”I love you too, baby.”

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you in time.”,I whimpered. Holding his journal to my chest as I shut my eyes. I continued to cry until I felt hands touching my back. Soft and warm. Like he used to. Then I sat there frozen on his bed. A soft voice whispered,”It’s okay.”

“I still love you.”,he added. So very quietly into my ear. And as I lay down on his bed, I never felt more at ease in so long. Knowing that I wasn’t entirely a failure as a parent. Even when he’s gone.