An Empty Room, A Full Heart

My son left for California this morning.

He and my wife will be driving for the next 3 days from Iowa to California, a distance of more than 1600 miles. They plan to stop by Mount Zion, a national park in Utah, and perhaps do a short hike, to break the monotonous long drive. My wife will be with him for about a week to help him settle to his new place, or perhaps she’s not ready to let him go yet.

My son’s car was crammed with stuff – a couple of luggage full of clothes, bins of personal belongings, beddings, a skate board, a guitar, a trash receptacle, his laptop computer, even his desk plant, and some other odd items. No need to rent a U-Haul truck, it all fitted in his car. Packed somewhere in there was his big dream of becoming a doctor. That’s why he is moving to Loma Linda to start medical school.

When they pulled out of the driveway, I playfully ran beside the car, a practice my son used to do when he was a boy when his friends or some of our beloved guests drive out from our house. He will give them a chase up to the end of our street as a send off, and then wave them goodbye.

I stopped at the end of the driveway and did not continue to the street, But I continued my chase with my gaze, until the car disappeared completely from my sight.

Since my heart was heavy and I’m all alone in the house, I did not go inside right away. I stayed out in the driveway and shoot hoops for a few minutes. I played one-on-one with my shadow. No one was jeering me. No one was cheering me either. The basketball goal just stood there – silently looking at me with contempt, as I kept on missing my shots.

In my defense, I cannot see clearly. My eyes were blurry with tears.

I finally mustered the strength to go back inside the house.

The silence was deafening.

My thoughts were screaming.

The temperature inside was cold and lonely. There was this somber air that would not go away even if I adjusted the dial of the thermostat. It hung like heavy black-out drapes.

When I went upstairs, I noticed that the door of my son’s room was ajar. I want to check his room if in case he left something behind. As I opened the door fully, something strange overwhelmed me. I totally lost it.

On the bed, he neatly and purposely placed a special pillow. It was a gift he received when he was a child from one of our family friends. That particular pillow had a printed image of him as a little boy, flashing a wide grin, with one front tooth missing.

The avalanche of memories was too much…..

I squatted on the floor beside the bed and bawled like a baby.

Though the tears were not solely from sadness. It was mixed with tears of joy.

Yes, he may not be in his room anymore and it may be a long while before he would come home for a visit, yet I will see him again. In fact, in more than a week from today I will fly to California to join my wife to attend my son’s White Coat Ceremony at his medical school.

My daughter, who moved to Florida about 2 years ago for work (see post), will fly in too to witness this momentous event.

Even though we are now “empty nesters,” we are thankful and proud to see our children go and fly on their own. It is true that there’s pain from being left behind, yet this is tempered with happiness to witness them soar.

The room is empty. But my heart is full.