Empty Bedrooms

I went into Savannah's room today for the first time since we've been home from Utah.  

Holy cow...  

People told me I would feel the full range of human emotions with this event, but I had no idea.  I immediately started crying at the thought of her presence being so noticeably absent from the room, but still so much a part of it.  All the chalkboard notes are still there, all the pictures are still on her bulletin board, even the familiar and ever-full trash can still had trash spilling out of it.  But her pink Christmas tree has been packed away.  Her shoes and socks aren't sprinkled on the floor.  And her bed is made.   

I have prayed in her room since we moved into this house.  I love the warm light that comes in through her pink curtains and the sun that seems to shine brighter in there.  I love the quiet in her corner of the house.  And typically her room is the cleanest and most enjoyable place to just linger and have a conversation with Heavenly Father.  

My first instinct after I walked in there was to get the heck out and never go back.  But I made myself stay.  Even though I could barely breathe.  And I made myself feel every single one of those emotions.  And holy cow, was it hard.  

But after a really good cry, I was completely flooded with gratitude.  To have loved that little bird so dang much that the thought of her being far away rips my heart out.  To have had such a great relationship and friendship with her that I ache to think of how long it will be before I get to have a real conversation with her again.  To have had so many, many memories in her room that it hurts to go in there without her.  

And I also thought a really important thing that sort of swept away all the floods of tears for a minute.  I don't have a single regret with her.  Not one.  I don't wish I had said, "I love you" more.  I don't wish I had snuggled her more, or listened more, or spent more time with her.  I know in the deepest part of my heart that I did all of those things.  I was where I needed to be when I needed to be there.  I acted when I felt inspired to uplift or edify or scold.  I apologized when I needed to.  And because of that, I know that she now has what she needs for her new adventures and all the upcoming experiences that are waiting for her.  I could not have filled her with more knowledge or love or life lessons.  I gave her absolutely everything I knew how to give.  And it will be enough.  

And now it's time to make sure the three remaining little birds in this nest have all that stuff, too.  

Thank goodness we only lose one baby bird at a time, because this is so much harder than I ever thought it would be.