#empty-nest

#empty-nest

As the youngest of four, my daughter probably hasn't known a totally peaceful day since she arrived home from the hospital. She was the travel baby - waking up in her infant seat to discover she'd been carted to a school play, T-ball practice, or school pickup. She had built-in playmates right from the start, though, of course, they bickered and fought like any other siblings.

If life had worked out differently, Serena would by now be coming to terms with an empty nest. Having brought up seven children, she and her husband might even have been enjoying a little more money and time for themselves. But as it is, three of their adult children are now at home: the 23-year-old finishing his degree; the 28-year-old, a teacher, saving for a house deposit; and the 34-year-old, after a mental health crisis.

I expected the empty nest to be a lonely and sad place. Instead, I learned that motherhood doesn't end; it evolves. When my youngest of four left for college, I cried for days. Someone said to me that they thought I would get used to it. That having four kids makes it easier in some strange way. It is not easier. The silence that came from the last kiddo leaving felt almost shocking.

After wiping my tears on the drive home and adjusting to the quiet of my house, I was surprised by what lingered. Naturally, I missed my kids when they left for college, but I couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness. My two oldest children are now away at college, and my youngest is preparing to leave the nest in a year. Now, there's nothing for me to do. They no longer need me in the same way they once did.

Instead of rushing off right after graduation, we got bonus dinners, family time together, and the kind of unplanned conversations you can't schedule on FaceTime. When he finally did move, it wasn't so bad. New York is only a three-and-a-half-hour train ride away. I knew I could hop up for a weekend visit if I missed him too much. The distance was manageable - just far enough for him to be independent, but close enough to comfort me.

Several years ago, when the last of my daughters graduated from college, loaded her 'how-can-she-possibly-carry-that!' backpack, hugged me tight, and boarded a plane for South America with a one-way ticket, I felt a hole in my stomach the size of a meteor crash pit. I knew so many things at that moment. I knew I had a world of worry ahead of me that would last the duration of her adventure-with-no-end-date.

The term empty nest first emerged in the late 19th century, gaining traction in psychological and sociological discourse by the 1940s. Originally, it evoked a singular image: a mother alone in a quiet house, mourning the departure of her last child. But the reality, then and now, is far more nuanced. While the term was once gendered, today the emotional impact is felt across all parents, regardless of role or identity.