Suddenly, in a short span of time, our two bundles of joy moved out of the house. We knew this time was coming, but certainly I wasn’t expecting a two for the price of one moving special. Like a lot of men, my husband is more pragmatic. Certainly, I’ve never heard “empty nest syndrome” attributed to any man of the house.
So here we are alone, two months after the last of our two packed up her entire life in cardboard boxes and shut off the light as she walked away. There’s definitely a sense of loss, but also freedom. I miss talking to the kids, teasing them, or acting goofy and having them laugh at me like I’m the biggest dork, but they love me anyway. The freedom comes with the gift of my worrying less if they’re okay. No more 3:00AM, bleary-eyed where-the-hell-are-they nights.
Our job is done. They are on their own trying to figure out this enigmatic world. The much heralded empty nest used to seem very distant. All my parenting memories unravel into a quick flash movie in my brain. The kids’ lives in slide projector warp speed leading to now. And I feel as if I’ve jumped off a moving carousel. The kids, now fully adults, grew up way too quickly. Gently, lovingly, I wave goodbye to let them begin new journeys as my husband and I begin some of our own.