All of our son’s toys are still in place and waiting patiently. Teddies with shining eyes and smudges of chocolate embedded in their fur. A village of figurines, monsters and animals from every movie and show imaginable. Wooden alphabet blocks and Lego pieces that were the tools of all creation on a given afternoon. Sheets of paper with happy unintelligible scrawls and sweet smelling nubs of crayons. Oscar’s clothes are folded neatly in his drawers as they were this time last year, anticipating their next day out. His plastic cutlery and bowls sit quietly stacked for dinner. At night as the shadows stretch out, his books beside our bed await his grand arrival to regale him with their stories for the hundredth time. And us, we wait.