My daughter turned back. A broad smile. Purposeful steps. She crossed through security. And just like that, we were empty nesters.
We’d leaned into those last few months. Attended every soccer game. Made time for dinners together. Conversations.
But just like that, she was gone.
I expected excitement. Not because I don’t love her. But because I do. I know my wife and I will enjoy our new lives. And that my daughter will return. So will her sister. But they won’t be coming back. Not in the same way. Life will be forever different. For all of us.
We’re empty nesters.
That imagined excitement hasn’t materialized. Yet. At first, there were regrets. Not enough books read together. Meals missed. Lessons not taught.
I’m glad my mother was close. Talking with her helped me get a grip. Her words rung true. “I did the best I could with you and your brothers.” And, really, how could she have done any different? How can any of us?
I was so sure we’d be different than the others. Parent friends whose lives seemed defined by their kids. While we might have loved our kids deeply, we were looking forward to this time. No more soul-deadening drives for short soccer games seemed like quite a perk. More time for my morning routine. Meditation. Reading. Meaningful work.
I’m discovering that it’s both. Rapturous freedom. Painful loss.
When water hits 212° Fahrenheit, it goes through a phase change. It becomes something different. That’s what this is. A phase change. Very different. Why shouldn’t going from time together almost daily to nothing be jarring?
Expectations. They drive our lives. Mine were out of sync. I didn’t account for the phase change.
We still spend time together. But it’s virtual. Often asynchronous. New images from a new country on our shared album. A quick text, “The art is insaaaane here.” A winking emoji. Even a text asking for a few bucks.
Our new life.
Empty. Full. Different.
We started meeting up with other new empty nesters. Discussing our kids’ new adventures. Sharing images. Swapping stories. It’s nice to know we’re not alone. Our kids’ experiences may vary, but there’s a similarity to our experiences. Classes chosen. Friends found. Our worries about where the world will take them.
My wife sends me a picture of my daughter’s first ballet “performance.” She is comically frozen on stage. Toes curled up. I smile.
In comes a picture of my daughter’s morning meal of Kaiserchmarnn with a new friend in Vienna. Half a world away. Making memories.
Our kids seem happy.
Empty. Full. Different.
I want to thank Bud Ward, Samantha Law & James Bailey for their creative insights to this piece.