Dreaded Tasks

By Elena Matyas

We started the dreaded task of packing up Roxie’s room. As we prepare to move out of our rental and back into our freshly renovated “home”, we are forced to face the reality that there will no longer be a little girl’s bedroom down the hall.

We tackled her books first. As we sorted through Roxie’s bookshelves, everything we touched ignited a memory: “Pat the Bunny”—a gift when I was pregnant. “On the Day You Were Born”—from Doug’s parents, elated with the arrival of their granddaughter in the midst of Grandpa Don’s battle with Alzheimer’s. “Oh, the Places You’ll Go”—Doug’s gift to Roxie, anticipating the wonderful journey of her future. And “Pugs on Ice”— the easy reader chapter book Roxie & I read the night before she died.

Roxie loved books. Her infant eyes would widen as her chubby fingers turned the pages of “The Little Engine that Could” and “Goodnight, Moon.” Her weekly toddler routine always included story time at one of the Pasadena city libraries for which we are so thankful.

After learning all the words to “Puff the Magic Dragon” at Pacific Oaks preschool, Roxie would “read” Puff over and over again, always emphasizing “Ha-NA-LEEEEEE!” When Roxie awakened early on weekends, we could hear her thunderous footsteps going back & forth from her bed to her bookshelf (how a tiny girl could make so much noise walking remains a mystery).

Roxie would “read” in her room until we opened the door to find our girl in bed with piles of books surrounding her.

At night, I still go into Roxie’s room and read her a bedtime story, believing that if I keep our routine alive, I will keep a piece of her alive as well.

But the joyful memories of reading to her are now eclipsed by heartache. Within only a few weeks, Roxie will no longer have a room. And I will no longer have her special place in my home.