The Inevitable Emptying of the Nest

“I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them.” -Andy Bernard

From my journal: 08.23.17

     We packed up our second child and took her to college yesterday. By some miracle it happened, though exactly four days ago her bedroom floor was knee-deep in eight months worth of dirty laundry. Somehow the clothes got washed and packed, along with four dozen “quiet films”, a dozen hats (placed carefully in hat boxes), and two dozen or so books selected most heart-wrenchingly.

     We filled the van, and Sabrina drove, so as to overcome her anxiety over the sixty mile commute. We pulled into her housing, unloaded the van, helped her set up her bedroom, met her cute roommate, went to Walmart and spent upwards of a million dollars on grocery items, met her sister for lunch, drove to campus and rented a Marriage & Family textbook for a mere $84.00, took her back to her apartment, met another roommate, did one more Walmart run, choked back tears while hugging Sabrina goodbye, then left. That sixty mile drive through the canyon, just the two of us, with our child’s absence already being acutely felt, is a killer.

     We got home at nearly 7:00. Jonah was downstairs, laying like a slug in front of what I fear may have been his eighth hour of Gravity Falls episodes. Spencer was getting ready for work as the pizza boxes and pool table balls strewn about the floor acted as a dead giveaway that he had perhaps over-enjoyed time with his friends in an unsupervised house.

     It was exactly 12 hours before these two summer sloths, we’ll call my sons, would be starting school. Jonah still needed a belt and a haircut. He has that awkward 24’ waist that, for some reason, both the men’s and boy’s section considers No-Man’s Land. It took two stores, and a full hour of shopping to finally stumble upon that blessed 22’-26’ reversible black/brown belt. Upon returning home, I sent Neil and Jonah to Smith’s to conjure up whatever Jonah might deem as edible lunch items.

     There I sat, alone, in the quiet cluttered darkness that was my house trying to process my feelings. They were the same feelings I experienced after dropping Jessica off in Logan almost exactly 3 years ago. They were…non-feelings really. Moms often describe the two days of sobbing that ensue after their adult kids leave home. It’s different for me. I can only say that I feel empty. It is an empty, helpless feeling as you try to grasp that half of your children no longer reside safely under your roof. It is a mind-numbing mess to try to work through.

     And I still haven’t worked through all of the feelings. It will be a process, just like every part of parenting has been. I spent the first ten years of adulthood preparing and filling my nest. I spent the next ten years nurturing the little chicks within that happy little nest. But nobody prepares you for the inevitable emptying of the nest. No one prepares you for the emptiness. Nobody teaches you how to look into the void and to somehow continue to breathe. Eventually we figure it out, just like we figured out breast-feeding and potty training and back to school shopping and driving lessons. Parenthood is one constant stream of exchanging an old comfortable normal for some new panic-laden territory. Eventually the panic burns off and is replaced with normalcy. But that is not this day. This day, I will deal with the ache every time I pass Sabrina’s empty bedroom. This day, I am practicing breathing through the emptiness.