I don’t post much on Facebook anymore because my kids are almost 20 and their stories and pictures are theirs to share. I don’t have as many of my own stories these days and no one wants to know what I ate for breakfast. (Ok, I had eggs and avocado.)
It’s harder than I expected, this second year with them gone. The pandemic gave us six bonus months together. I wish we had made more of the time. We just existed together, trying not to get on each others’ nerves with little to do and nowhere to go.
They are back where they belong now. This morning I am playing Harry Styles’ Fine Line at full volume. I didn’t know this album was sad.
I miss them. Not sure why. All they did was tease me and sleep until 3 pm. Sure, they fill up a house with their laughter and singing and secret twin language —only now it’s TikTok references that Scott and I don’t get.
Empty Nesting is hard, not because two 18-year olds leave home at once. Yes, that’s hard but they should leave home. The whole world belongs to them now.
It’s hard because they also take with them the 3-year old who needed you to tie his shoes and the 8-year old who looked for you in the carpool line and the 15-year old who still called you Mommy. They are still in there somewhere.
I miss them all so much. They grow up and look forward. We grow old and look back. We go from being the protagonist in our life stories to the supporting character to the unseen narrator remembering all that was.