My nest feels empty at the strangest moments. Like when I open the refrigerator to see a half-consumed bottle of wine, some coffee creamer, leftover Chinese food and way too many individual packets of soy sauce instead of a refrigerator overflowing with homemade and healthy foods, sandwich fixings, power drinks and granola bars that you packed ever so carefully your child’s backpack daily. I mean, nowadays, it’s cheaper to eat out or call in then to shop and cook for one. And when your children were young, of course, as filled as your refrigerator was, there was always something one or the other needed that you didn’t have, and as a dutiful mom, you would run out at store closing to make sure they had exactly what they wanted, when they wanted it. That was then, and this is now.
Okay, so now that they’re gone, I promised I would write something everyday, just for me, as I would have so much more time on my hands not having to cater to boys’ the daily needs, but I have been sorely remiss. I had been feeling joyful and happy in my phase of life after kids, loving not having a strict routine, and loving being more in the moment. But in the past month, that seems to have shifted a bit and with all the time in the world to write, it was the last thing I wanted to do.
Having moved seven times in ten years, I had accumulated more stuff than any ten people should be allowed to collect in one garage, so with my bad back, I decided to hire someone to help clear the clutter out of my life. She would do the heavy lifting and I could sit there and pass judgment on every item. Keep. Toss. Donate. File. Shred. Maybe. Keep. NO – Toss!
But as we dug in, the more we tossed, the heavier a fog of melancholy weighed me down. Was it the impending milestones my sons were about to reach tugging at my heart? My eldest was going to graduate from college and my “baby” was going to graduate from high school. Where had all the time gone? Why are they so grown up and I am still so young? What am I to do now?
Oh the joy and the pain of it all. I miss my babies. I missed having them depend on me for mostly everything. I missed feeling like I was the only one who can give them what they wanted and needed. But of late, the heavy lifting as a parent is done. I have loved, nurtured and guided my boys in the best way I knew how. I have hoped and prayed that I have supported them and taught them enough to fly the coop and someday make a nest of their own. I have given them everything from the bottom of my heart and sometimes from the very bottom of my wallet.
So while the media swears my nest is empty and I will attest to the fact that my cupboards and refrigerator are pretty much bare, the fact remains that my nest will always be full. Maybe not with the pitter-patter of little feet or the wretched smell that emanates from a soccer backpack after a big tournament, or teary faces to be wiped, but full of the promise of what these boys have now become as they take the next step on journey to become men and the pride in knowing that I didn’t do such a bad job after all and maybe I did help them a bit along their way!
Originally posted 6/9/09