My daughter is very nearly 18 years old but her bedroom has remained nearly unchanged since the day we set things up when we moved into our house nearly six years ago. When I go into her room to vacuum or to put away her laundry, I can get distracted by nostalgia. Her bookshelf is filled with all of the books that we used to read together again and again. Her headboard is lined with all of her stuffed animals, each alive in my mind with the personalities that she crafted for them. Her closet is filled with games and distractions that once thrilled her. Oftentimes she is not in the house and the echoes of her past are so loud that they drown out my peace. In those moments I miss her so much and wish that we had more time to be like we were.