Dismantling Luke’s Room

The start to year 5 begins with many changes.

As my memories of Luke fade like an imprint in sand, the days and years serve as a tide blurring the edges of what it was like to be in his presence.

Evidence of his existence is eroding too, as we dismantle his bedroom to make way for things that better serve the living.

I never meant to create a shrine. His room isn’t even as he left it.

It was my plan to buy him some descent drawers to double as bedside tables and hang blackout curtains to help him with his crazy work hours, as a surprise upon his return from filming in Boston. So, I had completed that plan, as if ........well, somehow, if his room was nicer, he may just come home.

Guests stay here, but somehow, it is still Luke’s room. The wardrobe is still full of his clothes, his paperwork, his caps and shoes, his bits and pieces.
And so it is a place where I go, and often sleep, to be near him, to lie where he slept, in his sheets, in his bed.

And now because of Covid it will become Adam’s office.

George has always said that one day we will know what to do with it all and that it will become a natural transition. And here we are.

In life, Luke would text to let me know if he was staying out for the night “Not coming home”.
My reply would always be “Ooh good! Can I have your room for my office?”.
Swiftly he’d always reply with the clarification “Not coming home TONIGHT!”.

It was our constant joke, that after his death, is no longer funny. I swore that it would never be my office, that it would always be his room.

And now, as I book the storage boys to come for his beloved bed, I hesitate to press the button.

The removal of his bed from his home brings a weight to my chest as another confirmation that he is never coming home, a confirmation that has, right now, come too soon.

Of course, the bed can come back.
Of course, if he came back, it would be instantly returned.
Of course, it’s absolutely the right thing to do.

BUT

1464 days after his death, it appears, that for me, the reality is too much.

The added isolation of Covid and the lack of access to my therapist, brings my despair to an intolerable level and I am lost in my wishing that things were different.

Tonight will be rough as I try to shield Adam from the effect that this ‘right move’ brings to me.

This is not the same as it would be if he had left his room in our home to live with a friend or a girlfriend, to start the next step of his story.

This feels like an admission of the end of his story.