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Zev’s room is still, for the most part, the way it was when she was alive…

For a long time that felt comforting to me. I could go in and sit with her presence. I could be flooded with strong, vivid memories simply upon entering the room. One day long ago, I even spent a while drawing with her art supplies, sitting on the floor in the middle of all her treasures.

Lately, I have noticed that when I do go into her room, even for a very short time, it feels like my chest is being ripped open. Salt in my wounds. Any healing and acceptance that has come to me over time vanishes instantly. I suppose much of it is the longing for her to return to me. The intense anger and the stubborn refusal to bend to reality.

Her room is now a time capsule. Filled with thousands of memories; a reminder of what is lost, what was and what will never be again. It is startling how painful it can be, especially at night; seeing her empty bed and the shadows of her beloved dolls, animals, musical instruments, bookshelves…

I am hopeful there will still be days in the future where I will feel comfort surrounding myself with her belongings. Simply existing in her sacred space, reliving memories filled with joy.


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