In August, my last one will leave the nest. For this, I am profoundly unprepared. It all went much faster than I could have predicted.
Being the parent of young adults is an art that I have yet to master. In my mind, I still think of them as little puppies. I want to tell them what to do all of the time. But, they aren't necessarily appreciative of my unsolicited advice. I find it difficult to keep my mouth shut and my opinions to myself. I think this is where conflict mostly arises. When they share something with me it's not because they want my input.
When I talk to my friends who have children that are roughly the same age, they tell me the same thing. I think it is easier for my husband. I don't know why. It's not like he doesn't care what goes on in their lives but he doesn't try to tell them what to do. He comes across as more accepting and thus, they talk to him about more things. Sometimes he doesn't tell me stuff because the kids ask him not to tell me ('Don't tell mom. She'll freak!"). They are correct.
My general approach to life has been to catastrophize. Regardless of the situation that is being put forth, if it involves one of my kids, I think of the ABSOLUTE WORST SCENARIO. It is a character flaw. I know this about myself. Thus far, in real-life, none of the doom-filled scenes have played-out. I am working on this with my therapist; my tendency to react rather than respond. It's not easy.
Most of life isn't easy. There are episodes of utter, unadulterated joy and in these times I try to be cognizant of what is happening. Usually, it's something seemingly mundane and lacking in ceremony - a drive in the car, a morning when everyone is home, a meal around a table. It's during these moments I try to remember to give thanks. Those of us who are of my generation can recall Mountain Dew commercials. It was always kids in their early 20s jumping off cliffs into a lake or jet-skiing or laughing with their friends around a campfire. It was all very curated and made to seem like life was one giant fun-filled adventure. Honestly, that is what social media is now; it's the Mountain Dew commercials of yesterday. We had the benefit of knowing it was scripted. I think we forget that when scroll through our feeds.
The day of and the 2 days following my daughter's graduation, I bawled my eyes out. During pilates, I wept. At the stop light, I wept. In the shower, I wept. These were giant, breath-sucking, snot-slinging sobs. At night, I cried myself to sleep. I didn't think I had any more tears to shed, but they kept coming. I'm not alone. I know there are other weepers out there. You've texted me. I know you exist. Don't worry, I'm not going to out you. I'm so freaking grateful for you and your realness, for your vulnerability, for your friendship, for your transparency, for your partnership in feeling inadequate, for sharing your mistakes. I know your victories; sometimes I have to remind you of them (and vice versa). But it's the sorrow and the anxiety and worry that binds us together.
What am I going to do when my nest is empty? At times I'll roost, but I'm going to use my wings to fly. As long as they'll have me and as I learn to listen more and talk less, I'll fly to wherever my chicks make their own nests. I'll keep my nest nice and cozy so they can come back whenever they'd like. I'll come sit on your porch, drink your coffee or your wine and laugh or cry with you. I'll spend time with those I love and take stock in the here and now and treasure all the moments that make this a life.
