Dear Noah...About Your Room

Dear Noah,
Today the gardener's son, who is 9, asked to use the restroom. When he was done he took a little detour to peek into your room. I was in my office working so I could hear his footsteps. When he went back outside, I thought I'd see how your room would look to a stranger. A stranger who most likely only dreams of having his own bed, let alone having his own room. And this is a room that is never used; has not been used by you since December 26, 2011. I miss you, son. I miss you more than you could ever know and hope you never have to miss anyone with this same overwhelming ferocity.

Your room is a time capsule, filled with 11 year-old Noah's favorite things. World of Warcraft posters line two walls and bamboo fencing (to give it the same feel as a fishing shack) line the other two. You picked out the paint colors, aqua and sand. And there are books to the ceiling and video games galore. The stuffed animals you never outgrew are still here. Your favorites are sitting on your dresser, desk and nightstand and the rest are lounging on the top shelf in your closet. There's a tribute you wrote to your Betta fish, Fuego (remember him?) hanging on the bamboo fencing.

There are so many things that were once so important to you. The closet is loaded with goodies, too. Enough LEGO to build a village, an arsenal of NERF guns, games, knick-knacks, and some of the clothes that remind me of you most. I gave away a lot of your clothes to kids who didn't have any. You've outgrown them by far. But I'm saving the special stuff. Not sure if they were special to you in any way, or only to me. They're only things, I know, but they're what I have left.

There are other things in here, too. A pile of things that is growing in size. Gifts from each Christmas, things you refused from me. Do-dads and cards from each Valentine's Day, Easter, Birthday, and whatever occasion arose. You looked through them when I brought them to you, but ultimately decided you couldn't take them. "Could you keep this for me?" you asked me once. Absolutely. You bet. I have them, son. They'll be here whenever you want them.

And they're not just from me. They're from Auntie Toi and Gramma and Auntie Jodina and Jean and Dave, Oscar and Sami. So many people who love and miss you.

Come home, son. I'm your mom. This is your house. Always. Wherever I have a home, you'll have a home. Now, tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, forever. I love you with my whole heart. Always have, always will. I know you know that and I know you love me, too. I am praying that this horrible craziness stops soon. It started when you were 11 and now you're 14, soon to be 15. It's time for it to stop. This has done no one any good. No one.

I love you forever. Like the book. Love you forever and miss you like crazy and think about you every, single day so much. That's just what moms do.