I have rearranged every room in my house in that time.
Michael's room has remained, for the most part, untouched.
His bed is rumpled.
His pajamas from the night before remain in the dirty clothes hamper.
His toys are left where he put them.
Only his shoes are back.
The one item of his that I walked out of the hospital with on that day.
His clothes were in no shape to come home with us.
Just his shoes. Placed back in his room.
His door is closed.
I don't go in to his room often.
And we have no plans to change it. Any time soon.
That time will come when we are ready. And we are not yet there.
It has been nine months.
The missing. The aching. Doesn't stop with time.
I now know what it is to be without Michael.
And I don't like it. A bit.