The Room of Memories

Today marks the 7th anniversary of Bryan’s death. It feels like a whole different life ago. It’s as if he’s been deported to a country where no communication is allowed with the outside world. He’s just there, living in a place that’s isolated from the rest of humanity – a Narnia of souls.

Echoes of him are intertwined with memories made since he’s been gone and life has moved on. I no longer grieve the loss of him the way I grieved the first few years.

I understand now when they say you don’t move on from grief, that you simply live with it. It’s true. The grief is still there, but it’s behind the door down the hall, the one you rarely go into because it’s turned into the room where you put all the things you cherish, but no longer have a place for in the forefront of your home. Yet you can’t bring yourself to get rid of those precious things.

Every once in a while, though, when you’re feeling nostalgic, you can take a cup of tea with you down the hallway, open the door with a creak, dust off a box and sit down with it, gently flipping through the memorabilia of the life you lived before.

And then you stand back up with a creak in your knees, tiptoe silently out of the room, gently close the door, and go back to the beautiful life you’ve built with your people.