This is my late husband’s room. He slept poorly, so he partitioned off a part of the family room and made himself a nook, so he could sit up and read and still be cozy. He passed away in 2020 of pneumonia. You can see the quilt #2 Daughter made for him. Yes, his medicated powder is still on the clock stand. Yes, his hat is still on the bookcase. Yes, his trousers are still hung on a hook just inside the door. The sign you can glimpse says: No Justice, No Peace; Know Justice, Know Peace. The last place he went besides the hospital was a Black Lives Matter rally.
Is is morbid to keep his room as he left it, his books on the shelves, his clothes in the closet? I really don’t give a flying fuck. Just sayin’.
A WRITING PROMPT FROM ME TO YOU: Someone grieves at their own pace.