I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear Josh,

It was interesting that Shalini talked about how we too, have tried to freeze time.

The other day, I was sitting in the living room alone. My mood was not the best I guess. While watching TV, my eyes darted to your photo in the corner, and I almost had a panic attack. It was suddenly so hard to accept that this was our reality. And that you will not be here physically for the rest of our lives.

My mind went in all directions. One of which was whether it was the right thing to continue staying in our home. There are so many reminders of you everywhere. Some days, I just want to forget what has happened. But deep down, I know I won’t be able to cope without the reminders as well.

There is an initiative started by some mothers who lost their children to suicide called “The Room That Remains”. In trying to raise awareness to suicide, they talk about their children’s rooms, and have even made a model display of their rooms that was put up in an exhibition. There are so many things similar to what we’ve done.

In your room that remains, the bedsheets are still the same, in a feeble attempt to retain whatever may give us a hint of your smell. Unfortunately, it is long gone. Everything is exactly the way it is. Even your water bottle is still there with the water still inside. Your desktop is still plugged in. Your phone is charging on your table. Your wardrobe is full of your clothes. And your bookshelf is still full with all your belongings, including the letters Shalini lovingly wrote to you to be opened just 2 hours after you passed, still unopened.

The difference in your room is all the additional things we have put in. The numerous toys and gifts, letters, cards. The latest is an MJ vinyl Jess and I bought.

The pictures still hang perfectly on your walls. One of them still brings tears to my eyes whenever I pass by. It is from the Brockhampton concert. It is of extra special significance to me because I think it is the last thing your eyes saw before they closed permanently. It was after we named this blog that I realised this.

When there is so much of you in this home, how can I move out? How can I even get rid of anything? Afterall, you spent more than 3/4 of your life in this home. And so, despite the pain often encountered when I see your pictures and things that sometimes painfully remind me of you, I can’t bear to change anything. I think this is the way you would want it too.

Love Mum