They’ve flown. One is still sitting on the ledge, flapping her wings, but she’s definitely not looking back. What a peculiar feeling it is to look around and see empty egg shells and feathers…no gaping mouths straining for sustenance. I understand where the term comes from. I can appreciate how the word “empty” could describe the gutted-out way this feels. My neck swivels to study the walls of twig and spit, and my eyes get a little wide, and then they fill… what now?
What is my job if not to fly far and wide, gathering worms, (aka chicken nuggets and breakfast cereal), and poking them at those tiny beaks?
What is my worth if it isn’t daily provider, caregiver, counselor and teacher?
How will I know if their wings are dry and their lunches are packed and their sheets are clean?
How will I know if the sore throat is strep or test-anxiety if I can’t touch the forehead and look at those eyes? (Because one look, and a Mom just does.)
What can I do that will ever fill the days like questions and stories and homework and meal prep and snuggles and meme sharing and nagging?
Most of all, will they do those things well without me?
As I slide my fingers over the frets of the song that has been parenthood, the sound that I hear is sweet. As I remember all the nuggets, and English papers, lectures, cuddles, and memes… I realize so very quickly that the nest can never be empty. It can be lonely, it can be quiet, it can be still… but “empty” will never be correct.
How full it really is; brimming with love and light and promise. How grateful and Blessed am I to have helped guide these creatures through their firsts. How beautiful and hopeful is all that lies ahead. How amazed am I to watch this unfold. What was created will never go away. In the end, the memory serves as proof of life, (whether I remember it all or not). The shadows of what once was will cast their influence over the path of what will be. I did it. And once in a while, I’ll get the opportunity to do it some more. I’ll get that phone call or text. I’ll share the recipe for lasagna or the procedure for getting an insurance quote, and I’ll revel in it.
It doesn’t matter where they go or what they do… I am their Momma. No greater thing have I ever been, (until of course I am someone’s Mamma’s Mamma, and then I think I’ll be really good at that too). For now, I will miss the way it was once. I will grieve the way I used to be a Mamma, because that is worth a tear or two. Each one that rolls down my cheek is confirmation of something worth missing. So the truth I acknowledge is this: My tears are evidence…There’s nothing empty about my nest.
Comment section was broken, but I think I have it fixed now, gang! Thanks so much for stopping by 🙂
Well said Audrey. It’s a different way to be Mamma. We adjust but it’s difficult at times. I’m proud of Samuel and all that he is and does. But, I’d give a lot to have one more cuddle , one more little boy kiss, one more snuggle when he doesn’t feel good. But, I know we raise them to be independent, choose God (or not), and find their own jobs and paths. I love my son and he knows that. And, the best part, I’ll always be his mom.
Amen Diane!
Audrey, you gave a new light to our children leaving. They will never be gone from our thoughts and memories. They will always come back for advice or to share their successes. Tears reveal our love for each one. We gave them wings to fly and we still guide. You write from your heart. Loved this!
Thank you Connie. Love you.
This is beautiful Audrey. I am “full” too… full of the love and goodness of motherhood and Grammyhood blessings. Nothing empty here either! Thank you for helping me see the fullness. Emptiness is lonely and painful. .
This is beautiful Audrey. My nest is full too… Full of the blessings of motherhood and Grammyhood. Thank you for pointing out the fullness! Emptiness is lonely and painful. It’s a lie.
Amen to that Lisa. Thanks for reading.
The greatest and most difficult thing is letting go.