I cleared out my dad's study after 17 years — I needed that room because I didn’t have him

It took Megan Roantree 17 years to clear out her late father’s room. As she sifts through his possessions, she explains why she wouldn’t have it any other way

Megan Roantree and her father Sean, in 'his' room: "The room holds my dad’s energy, and stepping into it is a reminder of him. What he liked, what he read, his view every evening, his smell."

If I were to conjure up an image of my dad, he’d be sitting in his armchair, surrounded by books. 

He’d be smoking a rollie, reading the paper or one of the several books he’d have on the go.

‘Dad’s room’ was sort of a study/sitting room, filled corner to corner, floor to ceiling, with books. 

Topics are vast — there’s a shelf on history and geography, another with classic novels, a whole shelf dedicated to books about ships and maritime matters.

On the shelf beside his chair, there are figurines, gemstones, candlesticks, postcards, and a tobacco pouch. 

There’s a large, heavy desk, its drawers bursting with photographs, notebooks, and cards. The desk is pressed up against the window, looking out at the sand and the sea.

The room holds my dad’s energy, and stepping into it is a reminder of him. What he liked, what he read, his view every evening, his smell. 

I sit in his chair sometimes and press my cheek against the fabric, just to feel like I’m five again, sitting on his lap. 

There are records, tapes, CDs spilling out of boxes on the floor, there’s a fireplace that doesn’t work, and a couch that’s been used so well it’s not even puffy anymore.

It might feel strange that it’s been preserved like this since he died in 2008. And has probably looked like this since 1994 when we moved in.

When he died, I was 13, and I wanted everything to stay the same. I needed that room, because I didn’t have him. 

My world was falling down, and those four walls and their contents gave me what I wanted and needed in the years after he died.

It became his bedroom when he wasn’t well enough to climb the stairs. It was the place where we held his hand when he took his last breath.

Some people might have wanted to change up a room like this very quickly after a person dies. And I totally get that. 

I can see the therapeutic appeal in starting fresh, renovating a room. But, equally, I don’t think getting rid of everything is the answer. For me, it held all of him.

Christmas mornings, Scrabble nights, gatherings with friends, powerful booming record spins.

For a long time, I probably wouldn’t have let my family move a single book out of place. I was so afraid of losing signs that my dad lived. 

I wanted everything to stay the same because, at that point, the only big changes I experienced were bad ones.

A GENTLE APPROACH TO CHANGE

Then, changes began happening that were good. After years of feeling like my family was shrinking, I met my now-fiancé, and my brother met his amazing wife, my sister-in-law. They’ve since welcomed their two amazing boys.

Every summer they land home from Abu Dhabi, and we all pile into beds, across sofas and floors.

And as the boys get bigger, I’ve started to think about the room, and how it now just sits as a shrine, instead of being used by the very family it represents.

So my mom and I decided it was time for a clear-out. Even this took months of brainstorming. How do we make this room useful again? What do we change? What do we not? 

In the end, we decided on a gentle approach — we’d buy a proper sofa bed and freshen up the room. We dusted the bookshelves and binned broken things. 

The sitting room, half-way through a change, before the new couch

My fiancé hung photos of graduations, weddings, and our beautiful nephews. I got stressed, and embarrassed about how little I was actually changing. I got rid of about 20 books in a room of hundreds.

But as I picked up books on everything from shamanism to Shakespeare, I stopped to think. Yes, I could get rid of this but what am I gaining by giving them up? 

They say a clear-out is good for your headspace and helps you process the grief. 

But no one talks about what we gain by keeping things our loved ones loved, and having easily accessible memories of people who aren’t here. Who is it hurting to have ‘stuff’ in your home if it brings you true joy?

When I told people we were clearing the room, friends told me it was ‘probably time’. They pictured something from Extreme Makeover, a new beige breezy room to bring it into the 21st century. 

But I think there is a happy medium, there is a blending of old and new. In the end, it was far from a full revamp. We freshened up the room, made space for it to be lived in again, but made sure my dad lived on in the process.

I’ve gotten better at getting rid of stuff in general. I recently moved out of my rented home in Dublin and was a lot more ruthless when it came to clearing. 

Because those memories and those things are not finite. When all you have left of someone you love are things, they’re not just ‘things’ any more.

Dermot Bannon and his team would consider it a waste of an episode because the before and afters really aren’t that different but we did it in our own way.

The new feature wall, lined with family photos

 

I know we’re privileged to have enough room in our house to hold on to a lot of my dad’s stuff. Some might think it’s unhealthy or that we’re not truly moving on. 

But I don’t want to move on. I want to hang out in that room with new friends and pull out a book for them to take home. 

I want my nephews to sit on their daideo’s chair and look out at the view he once looked out at.

The truth is, my memories of my dad can be hazy, and my nephews and future children will never get to meet him. 

I consider it an honour that we can use his room in various practical ways but also that we can simply sit in his chair and feel like he’s there.