It was hard to say goodbye to my son at the train station. Standing in front of me was a vibrant, capable young man – my “little peanut” was gone forever. It finally hit me. My days of active parenting have ended and a new chapter has begun. I am an empty nester.
Recently, I was a very proud mom at the graduation of my son, Luke, from the University of British Columbia; he achieved a Master of Applied Science in Mechanical Engineering. I felt such a mix of emotions as he strode across the stage: pride at his incredible accomplishments; sadness that his father and grandfather were no longer here to share in his celebration; and a deep knowing that our relationship as mother/son had subtly and continually shifted over the years. Luke is a very responsible and independent adult. And, until the grandchildren come along, I suspect he will do quite well with only annual visits from me.
Our relationship has shifted, but I wonder if the worry of motherhood will ever end? Perhaps that is the greatest difference between humankind and the animal kingdom – when animal offspring leave they are on their own for good. The nest is truly empty. For me the only thing that is empty is my heart. For 25 years the major, almost sole purpose in my life was the care and concern of my two sons. Now, with both of them gone, my life feels directionless. Now what do I do? Where should I live? Who needs me?
While the natural cycle of life demands that children leave home and build their own lives, for me it is taking a lot of courage to let this happen, and even more courage to begin the process of re-shaping the next few chapters of my own life. I still have a few good decades left and I know that there are things to do, people to see and places to go. How much energy, time and effort am I going to expend chasing my dreams? What are my dreams? What is the risk if I ignore this opportunity and play it safe?
Where to begin is the question. Perhaps it begins with fully embracing my son and wishing him well in Vancouver. Intuition tells me that he is on the right path and I need to stop worrying. Instinctively, I know it is time to move on. For me being totally unburdened right now is a privilege, perhaps even a luxury.
Where will I be next year at this time and what will I be celebrating? The thought of saying, “I really don’t know” is scary and exciting. Perhaps I will reframe my current position from empty nester to next nester, dream nester, mobile nester, gypsy nester, life traveler, middle lifer? The possibilities seem endless.
As I slowly accept this life transition, I smile to myself and hope that the grandchildren don’t come too soon because I am quite sure that I am not ready to take on the role of Baba (grandma) yet. It is my time to play.
Related Articles
- Empty Nest Syndrome: Are You At Risk? (fyiliving.com)
- What I’m really thinking: The empty nester (guardian.co.uk)
- The dramatic expansion in the “empty nest” stage of life (blogs.berkeley.edu)
December 12, 2010
Hi Carol,
In torrential winter rain – the lakeshore was smashing with waves – I cheered and clapped the 10km runners at the Kew Park finish line today. I watched for my youngest daughter to finish. And there she was. Grinning like a sunbeam. I felt the heat of her face when I hugged her close. This time last year, she was planning an improvised Christmas dinner in Bangkok – a time traveler’s distance from where I was living. There’s an upwelling of joy when I see my grown-up daughters that’s hard to describe – sometime’s its a sob in the throat. When my youngest daughter left home six years ago, the ’empty nest’ was renovated into my own launching pad. These days, my reunions and farewells with my daughters include two or three travelers who really, really care about each other’s journeys. Of course, as their mother, I can worry terribly. I feel enormously satisfied to have a daughter tucked safely into bed under my roof for a night or two. And if I could, I’d give them each thousands of dollars to take away their financial worries. Essentially, all I really have is our embrace at greeting and farewell, the savour of our shared time – in person or from afar – and that sob in the throat to know that they are in my life.
December 12, 2010
Ahh Valence what joys I have to look forward to – thank you for sharing. Carol