Zane was living at home when he was killed. He was finishing school and wanted to move out when he didn’t have school and car costs…the plan was after graduation.  We had developed a suite for him downstairs and it was like his own little apartment.  His friends would kid him about why would he ever want to move out.  It was convenient and it gave me more time with him than most mothers had with their young adult children who had moved out.  In hindsight, his living at home was a gift.

There is no right way to do grief.  That includes what to do with your child’s belongings.  Some have left the room as is.  Others have taken everything down but a few mementos.  I have friends whose child was not living at home, who have created a space in their home of all their child’s favorite things as a place to be with their memories and their child’s spirit.   

We have not touched Zane’s room.  His laundry basket still sits there with a load of dirty laundry to be done.  His bar fridge holds his water and Gatorade bottles. His room is as it was two and a half years ago.  I keep the door shut and I still knock on it before I enter. My therapist suggested opening the door to his clothes closet just slightly, putting my hand in to touch a shirt or two and then closing it again.  She felt that it might get easier doing repetitive ‘touch-ins’ which would then enable me to start packing up his things. I can open the closet fully now but I am not ready to box his belongings.

My husband has suggested we paint it. Or make it into a guest room.  When in his room I give thought to this, to what could be options. The answer is always, “we will do nothing, it is Zane’s room.”

When I enter his room, the smells and his invisible energy and the sight of how life was when he stayed here wraps around me and pulls me in.  I will sit on his bed and look around and I can almost see him sitting next to me, remembering the conversations we had. “I’m thinking of moving my bed to the other wall…” or “where should I hang my picture I bought at Stampede?” He is so very real in this room.

The resistance to change his room is not something I want to face.  Changing his room into whatever that might be, is too big a task for my heart to consider.  I am not sure when I will be ready.  I am not giving it a deadline; I will know when it is time.  For now, if I see a plant or a candle or a book that he would enjoy, I buy it.  And I add it to his room.