Empty Nest

I feel old as I watch my eighteen-year-old baby walk across the stage with their honor cords and top-ten pin adoring their gown. My joy is abundant. So is my sense of loss. What does a mother do now that her children are grown? No one had readied me for that moment in my life. I had no other skills. No real drive but to be a mother and now… I was completely lost.

“You’re still a mother.” But it is different.

“You have a new life now.” What kind of life?

“Think of all the freedom.” I don’t want it.

They laugh and joke with their friends as they celebrate. I wait to sob until I get in the car. My husband squeezes my hand. My mother rolls her eyes. She’s never been particularly loving or sentimental. They don’t seem to understand. To them I’m being dramatic. I’m lonely. I’m lost. They make coffee and eat the cake I bought.

That night, my husband snores peacefully. The new adult I’d given everything to raise, sleeps soundly down the hall. I sit in the living room eating another bowl of chocolate ice cream watching others compete for their dreams on one of the many ‘reality’ TV shows. At least I’m not crying, but instead I think… there has to be more now to my life than raising the next generation of humans. But what?

I knew I couldn’t be alone in this feeling. My mother had clearly gone through a similar feeling, but instead of talking about it, she filled her life with shoes, true crime, and chain smoking. My parents had divorced. They had no marriage when they had no kids left. They hadn’t been the best parents in the first place, but it was still sad to see how they floundered once they no longer had to pretend. I didn’t have to worry about that at least. My husband and I had made our relationship solid even with the kids.

I hoped.

I attempt to knit. It’s more complicated than I think. No matter how many times I move the needle through the yarn, I still feel empty. My husband pretends to love the half blanket I’ve made for him. My new adult says it’s great, as they run out of the house for their last summer of fun. I threw it all away.

Full of sadness, I scope out all the online classes I could take. A fresh start. A new life. But they all don’t sing to my soul. Except nursing. I feel like that's a young girls game and today I feel so incredibly old. I spend too much time scrolling. Searching. Dreaming of nothing. My husband comes home from work with stories and excitement. My new adult follows him in, telling their own adventures of the day. They each give me a kiss on the cheek in passing and ask what's for dinner. Tired of it all, I close my search for a future, and hit the kitchen yet again.

Sipping coffee on the porch while my black cat suns himself in the warm rays, I wipe the relentless tears that flow down my sun kissed cheeks and listen to the sounds of the neighborhood kids screeching joyfully through the summer heat. My new adult is sleeping still. My husband is off enjoying his hobby without me. I am alone. Dreadfully alone. I decide to take a walk through our tiny lakeside town. Try to find joy for myself. I tell no one I’m leaving. Who is left to notice?

The breeze off the lake is wild and wicked and beautiful and warm, perfectly suited to my current mood. I’d given up everything to raise my children, my career, my hobbies, my friends, my life, my health, and my heart. Everything. I had no idea how to just move on. My husband’s life has differed from mine. He attempted to understand how I felt with this new empty nest, but… couldn’t. I wasn’t even sure who I was anymore.

What did I enjoy doing? What movies did I like? What food was my favorite? What music did I enjoy? Books? Colors? Hobbies?

Maybe that was the key. I needed to focus my energy on finding something for me for once. Something that filled the hole that had been left. It was time for me to be selfish for the first time in my life. I didn’t make dinner that night. I was busy searching for job listings and volunteer opportunities. Making lists of night classes or social outings that I would like to try.

I took a Greek cooking class. Went on a hike with a group of random women. Went to a lecture about space and the great unknown. Forced my husband to a salsa class with me. Spent an entire week at the library. Reading. Searching. Enjoying. I went on a bike tour of my local town. I signed up for a 5k even though I’ve never run in my life and volunteered at the local animal shelter, the food bank, and the nursing home, spending time with others who were as lonely as I was.

My new adult complained I wasn’t always around when they needed food made or laundry washed. I feel guilt for attempting to find joy. I stop searching and get back to the housework. My husband watches with a frown on his handsome face. Says nothing. My new adult enjoys life going back to normal as they rush out to their friends and summer plans. College looms. I sit alone on the porch, watching ravens and listening to life beyond this house.

“You did an amazing job raising our kids, love.” My husband's deep familiar voice broke through my depressive thoughts.

“I did.” I agree, but don’t turn around.

“You deserve to find what makes you happy.” He took a seat next to me on the porch. “Other than me, of course.” He smiles and nudges me slightly with his shoulder.

“True.” I sigh, resting my head against his shoulder and taking his hand. “Why do I feel guilty for looking for happiness beyond this home?”

“Cause kids don’t see their parents as human beings that need or want or desire things. But I see you as a woman who has more than earned the right to live for herself. Whatever you want or need, it’s your time to reach for it. I’ll support you.”

I glance at him. “Think I’m too old for nursing school?”

“Old? Honey, we are practically spring chickens. Go for it. You’ll be amazing.”

Standing at the doors of the local college, I hesitate. What if this is a mistake? What if I fail? What if I don’t fail? With a deep breath, a white-knuckled hold on my purse strap, and a whole lotta courage, I take my first step into a new life.