Eleven years. They put the dog down three months ago. Emma is twelve. She'll be going into high school not far from now. And it still seems like just yesterday he carefully, quietly went into Rachel's room and took Emma out of her crib, not knowing that Rachel knew about him doing this as she took her sleeping pills. Eleven long, depressing years since the funeral and things just got harder.
He may have quickly grown up in a panic, but not the way he should have. He had a bleak intake on life since Rachel died, and Chandler said the spark in his eyes never looked the same. Loss of love ruined the former childish eagerness in them. He no longer loved food like he used to, and feeling lonely didn't help.
Emma requested to begin sleeping in Rachel's room. He wasn't sure if he should allow it, but with much hesitation he accepted, putting the rings away in the dresser's drawer and pushing the dresses farther into the closet and maneuvering the lavender pair of heels after them. She never asked about them, she knew it was hard for him to talk about. She sometimes said he looked tired, but he just smiled at her.
He wasn't as talkative as he once was. He didn't have much to say now unless he was talking to Chandler, who hadn't been the same since his oldest daughter died. Mike wasn't the same since Phoebe died, either, taking care of her child alone. But Phoebe's child was at least a few years old now, it wasn't like his situation. It wasn't Phoebe's decision to die, and her child wasn't a baby, so he wasn't doing everything Phoebe should have been.
Still, it must be hard, and he somewhat understood. He still missed Rachel. He had begun putting sticky notes in Rachel's room again, but Emma surprisingly left them alone. She told him they were sweet. She didn't dig through the dresser, left it untouched, even the notes on the corners. She said she didn't want to read them, and he understood that, too.
He tossed and turned in his bed at night. He threw the covers off, he would wake upside down, anything. He had so much trouble sleeping lately. Emma still had Hugsy, adored him. He was proud of that.
He had finally finished reading all the books from Rachel's bookshelf. He felt a pang of sadness when he realized it. Her books had been surprisingly very interesting. He even got a little teary-eyed at some like Little Women. Sometimes he'd approach Rachel's door on sleepless nights, and it would still be open on occasion. He'd hang around the door, watching Emma sleep for a moment before turning away.
He sat down in his armchair on those nights and curled up in it as Rachel had done so many times, though she had been much smaller, more fragile. He usually fell asleep there eventually, and sometimes he thought he could faintly smell her scent lingering on the chair from the last day she had sat there waiting for him to return from the store.
The last day he'd seen her alive.