Today started out innocent enough. I got up and went to my sports physical therapy appointment first thing in the morning. While I was lying on the table, talking with my PT/coach about my plans for the day and the upcoming trip, he said something that stopped me cold: “Today will be the last day you’ll be in that house.”
I hadn’t thought about it that way. The words hit me harder than I expected. When I get back from Hawaii, the house will belong to another family. I won’t be able to just walk in, look around, and let the memories wash over me. That realization carried a weight I wasn’t prepared for.
After the appointment, I drove over to the house to finish the last couple of punch list items. Once the tasks were done, I lingered. I walked through the rooms one final time, not really sure what I was looking for—maybe closure, maybe just a chance to take it all in.
I stood in the office, looking out toward the front door. That view is etched into my memory: the last time I saw Alex there, putting on his jacket on a Monday morning.
Upstairs, I paused in the bonus room, staring out the window. I couldn’t help but see Alex and Jason at the window behind their train table, Toby their dog standing next to them, the three of them lost in their own little world.
And then I walked into Alex’s room. That’s when everything changed.
I sat in front of his window, staring into the now-empty space—a room that held 19 years of love and memories. That room grew with Alex, from Thomas the Tank Engine days to a young adult’s sanctuary filled with steampunk and fantasy RPG artwork. Sitting there, the weight of it all came crashing down. I was overwhelmed by grief and had one of my panic attacks.
As I lay on the floor crying, I felt a sudden coldness on my skin—the kind of chill you’d expect from a fan or the air conditioner. But the fan was off. The air wasn’t running. I’d like to believe that was Alex’s presence, there with me one last time in his room.
It’s complicated, carrying these emotions. Grief and sadness for what I’ve lost, yet excitement for the trip with loved ones just around the corner. I’m still learning how to let myself enjoy the good things in life, even when one of the best things that ever happened to me isn’t here to share them.
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