Tell someone you’re an empty nester, and you get one of two
reactions depending on the gender: a woman will sympathize and be there to
commiserate. A man will ask if you are
enjoying the “naked room.” Why do men
think that when the kids are gone, so are the clothes?
The summer before my youngest son departed for a university
four hours away was filled with turmoil.
I had an unplanned departure from a job I had held for 12 years and was
in the foreign world of job hunting. At
the same time, we began a staging area in a downstairs bedroom for all the
things he would need for his dorm. Each
time I added to the pile, I got just a little sadder. I was happy for him and his new adventure,
but at the same time, my heart was breaking and I would leak tears.
Why was I so sad? I
had been through this before with my oldest son. I knew they came back. But unlike when my oldest son left for school,
I no longer had any children at home. I
had been a mother and caregiver for 22 years.
Now what? I would always be their
mother, but my role was going to change, and the unknown is scary.
I dreaded the weekend we took him to school. We planned on spending the weekend in
Savannah, which is close to his school.
We told ourselves we were staying in case he needed anything we forgot
or if he discovered he needed something.
In reality, we were simply prolonging the inevitable.
I started the slow leak on that Friday before leaving. I warned my husband to be prepared for
“waves” of emotion. I didn't disappoint.
The Sunday we left him, we took him and his roommate to
lunch and drove back to the dorm. Armed
with a fistful of tissues, I held tightly to one of Georgia Southern’s newest
students, and then left him to his new life.
I leaked sporadically throughout the following weeks. But every day, it got easier. He kept his promise to be in touch, which is
daily. Empty Nesting is a journey, and
if you have children, it’s inevitable.
Join me as I navigate this journey and lessons learned along the way.
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