I steal a glance or two when I can, when I think he isn’t looking, when he seems preoccupied with a task and more forgiving of my sentimentality, when he’s relaxed, when his belly is full, when his friends are trooping through our crowded living room and they offer hugs, laughter, affection.
I remember these past two years of long nights and endless textbooks, and I realize how far we’ve journeyed.
His accomplishments. His maturity.
Truth be told, he’s suddenly gentle with me as though sensing my vulnerability; he’s more understanding than I anticipated, assuring me that he’s more adaptable than I think, engaging and at ease as we alternate between comfortable quiet and brief bouts of discussion – usually over a meal.
The tears I’ve been holding back for weeks?
Still tucked away, unreleased, but all too close. I’m melancholy and I know it. I’m not ready to say goodbye.
It isn’t that I haven’t been through this before. I have. Yet it seemed different then, perhaps because I still had my younger son at home. Sure, there was a light bulb moment at my firstborn’s departure and a period of missing him painfully. But I put him on a plane to a city he knew, to a place I understood, to an environment where I was certain he would thrive.
Parents, Wistfully
Yesterday, visiting my regular haunts around the web, I came across a lovely tale on Motherlode, as Karin Kasdin writes of sending her child off to college. It’s a beautifully written essay and I highly recommend it.
Ms. Kasdin speaks of the investment of care both she and her husband put into their marriage – no small feat when you’re raising children. They shared concerns over parenting issues and the requisite conversation – including the mundane (logistics), the debates (significant decisions), and the worries (waiting up).
They talked.
They still talk.
She writes:
Throughout our parenting years, there was no end to conversation in all its permutations.
But what about those who divorce and rarely communicate? What about those with the sort of split that never reaches peaceful coexistence or worse, that grows more contentious with the years? What about the widowed parents with no extended family to help?
What about those of us for whom there is no new life partner, no network offering shared talk, shared decision-making, shared memories?
Envy
Processing Ms. Kasdin’s words, I was surprised by my own mix of emotions. There was loneliness. There was sadness. There was envy.
The mundane that she speaks of?
It was mine to handle on my own.
The debates?
I could argue with myself.
Shared worries?
No.
I sit up alone. I watch the clock alone. I pray to my gods alone and thank them – profusely – when everything turns out okay.
Ms. Kasdin and her husband appear to maintain a close and communicative relationship. Their history of parenting together is admirable. And simply stated, I am envious.
Adjustments
At the end of her essay, fully aware that adjustments lay ahead, that marital conversation will change or possibly yield to something else, Ms. Kasdin writes:
Empty-nesters, my husband and I are groping our way through unfamiliar and very still territory. He knows all my stories, and I know his.
The Kasdins know their rhythm, and they will find a new one. They will face challenges and opportunities.
I know my rhythm, and I will find a new one. My challenges and opportunities – like my parenting duties – are my own.
I wonder about the Kasdin children, and if they know their good fortune. I wonder about my sons, and if they compare themselves to others with two parents. I wonder about all the divorced and widowed mothers who have persevered through their years of double duty, and for whom empty nest involves a particularly piercing loneliness.
I wonder how long it will take to navigate the upcoming space as we each must face it in this new stage – groping our way through its contracting and expanding corridors, not unlike the Kasdins, and not unlike our children – looking ahead to independence, with everything we can muster.
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Oh, the agony. I remember my mom telling me, years later, that the first month I was away at college, she’d go into my room and sob. As a single parent, it must be doubly hard.
I so get this. I really do. I remember when a friend of mine got divorced before I did. He was talking about his son and said, “the hardest thing about being divorced is that you go home, and there’s no one to tell the stories (about your kid) to.”
I really love your blogs. And I understand empty nest. It’s a trauma for me to go on vacation because I miss my fur kids so much.
I wonder if your own boys know how lucky they are. I wonder if they realize what a rare gift it is to have even one parent who is so invested in their success and their future. I wonder if they realize just how hard it is to do this parenting stuff on your own. I wonder if they know how much you’ve given up for them. I wonder if they have any idea of how many days and nights you’ve trudged through physical and emotional pain just for them. I’m sure the Kasdin children are lucky. But I know yours are too.
This made me weep. My daughter started preschool this morning and my son started 5th grade. I know tomorrow is only day 2 but right now it feels like college.
I remember when I was first divorced, the weekends without my kids nearly killed me. Then he (their father) moved far away and I got all their time back. And now, an empty house is and empty house. Two of my kids are miles from me. One still here and I cherish every second we have. I have thought of and envied married friends speaking of their new stage of life without the kids but with more time together.
Perhaps we must take this time to open up our hearts to love once again…. maybe
I really had none of this. I was so happy to get my life back.:)
And I am nursing a glass of merlot as we speak… ‘Nuf said…
Thanks, madgew. I loved to see them growing up, moving into their own lives. Last Saturday the family gathered downtown at Kung Fu Necktie to hear my son’s band when they were on tour here. We also have regular, more traditional, family gatherings. I loved having the children around; I’ve never been without things to do and people to be with, when they’re not around. Fran is great, but I was busy before I met her, too.
Both my “babies” are adults and productively on their own. But, frankly, I remember how painful to the core their departures felt. Much as a planned and hoped for their futures — including, of course, college, nothing prepared me for the shock of how deeply I missed them.
My heart goes out to all of you facing such separations.
Can’t quite bear to think of it just yet.
p.s. On a somewhat different topic also referenced in this post, it is important to me to have a partner and/or confidant to discuss substantial matters with (including child rearing, but many other things as well).
I have to say I use to so look forward to the empty nest. Yet, just as I sat in a college lecture hall yesterday, at what will hopefully be where my youngest attends college, I choked up. And, you are right. It was hard to come home with no one to talk about it with. Except, because my ex and I are on somewhat good terms, I emailed him some details of what the youngest thought.
I look at empty nesting like every other stage–it will have it’s ups and downs. But, like you said, having a partner will make it much easier (that is if something doesn’t happen between now and then, God help us). I really did not consider how dealing with this change would be dramatically different when you are doing it alone. Handling everything alone.
As with everyone else, my heart is full for you. Thank you for sharing this small piece of yourself with all of us. May you feel our arms surrounding you.
I so get this… You know my story so you know why… but I so get this and my heart goes out to you. Here’s to new rhythms, challenges and opportunities! Big hugs, hon, big hugs…
Get busy and get out! It won’t take the pain away, but at least you’ll spend some time occupied. Hugs.
Although I dread this (coming fast, but not yet this year) I so appreciate your courage, wisdom and authenticity in traversing this bridge ahead of me; and while I cannot yet say that I’ve been there, I certainly raise a glass of merlot (well, actually Provencal rosé, as it’s hot here in LA) in your direction.
I dread this as well. It’s years away and I dread it. And maybe it will be as it is for madgew. You have given so much of yourself to these boys. How could this leaving help but feel like tearing out a part of yourself? I think only a saint could bear it, and probably not even a saint.
You did this all on your own. You should be so proud of both of you!! Hugs for the hard days and mostly, tons of pride and joy for you and your boys. xoxo
I’m just catching up and am a belatedly teary mess after reading your series of posts on leaving your son at college. Despite the sadness, you have the joie de vivre, even with an empty nest. Despite the pain, you have the strength. Despite the credit card bills, you have the riches. Thinking of you!
Thank you Stacia. And thinking of you as well – and hoping that leg heals soon. (Sending you a virtual back scratcher to be used for any knee itching beneath the cast!)