The Window

I walk past his room and peek in.   It is empty.  There is very little evidence that Ben was even there – other than the bed sheets are not as straight as they ought to be and the odd nick-nack appears here and there.  Yet – his presence is everywhere.  I am filled with memories as I stand there.

I hate the emptiness.

I sigh.

I walk in.  Still no Ben.  As if he would just “appear” out of thin air if I walked in to his room further.

This room has been Ben’s since he was tiny – well – okay Ben was never tiny.  I have watched him grow from a needy young lad into a fine young gentleman.  I have seen him rejoice at his graduation from elementary to secondary school and from secondary to post secondary.  I have seen him struggle with friends and endear new friends.  This room has been filled with paint-ball material, Pokeman cards, Nintendos… and a multitude of games I don’t even know how to pronounce.  It has been the place of late night chats, late night movies, and quiet slumber.

I hate that it now lays empty – no Ben.

There is no, “good morning, Mum” from him.  There is no, “Can I borrow a car today?”.  There is no, “What’s for dinner?”.

I hate it.

Not sure why this time was so hard to say good-by. Not sure why my heart is so heavy this time.  Not sure why that room seems so damned empty.

I sigh.  I turn around to walk out and realize that window needs to be closed.  This is the window through which I had looked so often at the snow falling this past winter.  This is the window through which I had watched clouds drift by over the blue sky – through which I had heard the young winter wind howl and the snow plows force their way down the street.  Those were the days I wondered how long I had to live?  Would I have surgery?  Would I be sick from chemo?  Would I outlive my first treatments?  Then, this same window – I opened in the spring to hear the song of the cardinal and children playing in the streets.  The open window ushered in the spring breeze and with it – hope.  Those were the days of wild anticipation of the day – of the forthcoming summer and promises that my family would be together once more.

I crank the window closed to prepare for the cold weather.  It is time for change.  I don’t like change.  The trees are changing colour, the crickets are gearing up, and the summer harvest has produced a bountiful crop.  Ben is back to school.  My Ben.  He is on the other side of the window.  If only I could crank that window open once more to welcome spring, the return of the summer breeze, and my Ben!

I turn away and leave the room.  One more backwards glance reminds me to fix the sheets.

Instead – I walk away and them just they way they are.

About inmycorner

This blog began as an opportunity to tell my Dad's stories. I sat with him and the computer and together we told stories. It was a wonderful way to get to know Dad. He was 9. He and Mom had a wonderful life together and since she passed away a year and a half before him - Dad was ready to join her. I no longer tell his stories but have found stories of my own. The impetus to resume this blog was the discovery that I had stage 4 ovarian cancer. Since blogging had been so therapeutic for my dad and I to get through our grief, I felt maybe this would be a good outlet to process my situation. I also hoped it may serve as an outreach to anyone else who is facing this very ominous journey. So far, so good.
This entry was posted in cancer, diary, family, life, Memories, personal journal and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

10 Responses to The Window

  1. Maureen says:

    I remember my grief when my last child left – it was unexpected and hit me hard…

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