Somehow, I’ve returned to the emotional rollercoaster I rode when I was pregnant with my son twenty years ago. On the way home from work this week, I had myself in tears over our forthcoming “empty nest” status.
Then, when I did get home, I had to blink back more tears because of the actual EMPTY NEST on our front porch. It’s cool, but a bit too literal of a reminder of what is going to happen in the next six months.
It doesn’t take much to set either myself or my husband off when we think of our kids leaving. What the hell are we going to do?
Our weekends will no longer be filled with soccer games, waiting up for kids to get home, and just the general noise and activity of having teenagers in and out of the house.
On the one hand, I tentatively welcome it because I’ll have more time to write, quilt, and even read – all those things I love to do but have to fit into the tiny crevices of my life between work, family, and kids.
But then, I wonder if those silent spaces, that I don’t even realize are filled with noise right now, might grow too big.
I can make myself cry thinking about it, at least until I get reminders of life with small children.
My daughter has chosen to go to a school in California, about twelve hours from our house. It’s a long way. Yesterday, I was emailing a college buddy about it. She started her family much later than I started mine, and her kids have just begun elementary school. She’s got years to go before she has to face her babies leaving home.
I was expressing my concerns about the distance we’ll have to drive to see my daughter, and she sent me this response:
I about spit my coffee at my computer screen I laughed so hard when I read that. And, if I really give it an honest look, she’s right. I thank God I’m more concerned with registering my daughter for dorm housing than registering her for kindergarten.
I think we’ll be just fine.