Empty Nest
He towers over me now. Scrawny, deep voiced, knee deep in attitude. But this afternoon, when I return home from work, my son comes to the door. He hovers, still shy to ask, but folds into my arms as soon as I pull him in. It hits me then that this is what my mother meant when she confided in our young neighbour all those years ago. Talking about my recently deceased brother, she said, the entire day goes by. But at three o’ clock, when he would have returned home from college, that’s when it hits me the hardest. My former neighbour shared this memory just last year. My brother died more than thirty years ago, my mum had just passed away. She wasn’t the expressive one. We never spoke of him. So for me, this was a very intimate and frightening insight into my mum as someone else’s mother. You see, I returned home from school at three in the afternoon too. She was always there, waiting with a milk shake or a cheese toast or a smile. But I see now that some part of her waited endlessly for another hug, another voice. All her remaining years, I wonder if three o clock was difficult to get past.
Holding my son in my arms today, I think of this. A year or so from now, he will head off to college. His older brother has been away three years already. So we will be empty nesters. Three years ago, when I was steeling myself to say goodbye to my older son, I confided my secret fears to a friend who replied jauntily, oh our job as parents is to get them ready for the big bad world. If we do that job well, then there’s nothing to dread. True enough. He’s a good dad, I hope he still feels the same way. His older son is possibly off to college soon. Will his home seem lonelier without this child? Will the corners echo with the sound of his hoarse teenage voice? Will he curl up in his bed and find it tough to get up some mornings?
The sparrow fledglings who visit my balcony have lost their fluff. They seem less needy, their adult feathers have strengthened nicely. I suppose they have left their nests too. The parents seem mostly unaffected, certainly less harassed now that the bottomless pit doesn’t need to be constantly filled with food.
That was our experience too. At one level, we missed our son dreadfully. He too is not the most demonstrative of people. He changed in his adolescence. From an expressive, open hearted child, he became wary and guarded, in part due to my poor parenting skills. The other part is called growing up, I think. His physical absence was not such a wrench. In the couple of years before he left, he had begun to consciously detach himself, preparing himself and us for that moment when he walked away into his new life. Instead, we missed him viscerally, some primitive protective instinct kicking in now that he was out of sight and half a world away. But there was another surprising emotion: relief. The constant abrasion of conflicting personalities, the raised voices and slamming doors, these immediately disappeared. Life became calmer. Now when he returns home for the holidays, he is the centre of the storm again. We love him, his energy, his sarcastic take on everything, but three months of this at a time is plenty. He loves us but makes no bones about the fact that we aren’t his favourite people in the world. There are other more important people in his life. Just as it should be.
Our younger son is a self contained, old soul. He has always been the reserved one, content in his own skin. Perhaps he has always walked a little apart from us. Now comes the time to make that path truly his.
They will make their own way from here on. I think of this process as the links of the chain, so close and interwoven for the first ten trusting years. These slowly begin to loosen through the next ten turbulent years.
Now is the time to unlink the chain, to rework it into a safe circle. A place where the children can always return, but with no chains to cleave them to us. Maybe they will stumble, or fall, or lose their way. Perhaps all three, hopefully so that lessons are learnt and life is lived. We may not hold their hands now, life is theirs to do with as they will.
I look forward to being an empty nester. Not because I don’t love my boys, but because I do. As much as I love my husband and myself. I will always be a mom, but I think my parenting days are almost done. Life is calling to my children and to me with equal intensity. It’s time to answer.