It dawned on me, as I sat at our long, empty table, that tender silence and small talk were the new feathers that were filling my nest….and it was good.
The things that once demanded my attention, seemed to end abruptly. The gentle hum of noise and laughter was now replaced with an echo in the halls that clamored in my ears for months. My mind kept pulling me back to my memories; storytime and carpools, dance recitals, and ballgames. The loss felt like death. And, it was a sort of death – it carried the same weight as a physical loss. It was a loss of life – the only life that I had known for years. A life, that with each child, became the very core of my being; my purpose. It was the feathers that softened this little nest of mine.
But that’s not the end of the story. It’s been a few years now since the last of my children moved out and marched on, and the hollow feeling I carried when they left is slowly being filled. Just like the seasons, time moves on and what was once dark and fallow, began to turn green again with new growth. Holidays and Sunday dinners find the chaos and noise just enough to last me “until we meet again”, and with the birth of my first grandchild, these walls will soon hear stories and music again and the halls will echo with the sound of tiny little feet.
A mother holds her children’s hands for a little while, their hearts forever.
These thoughts become the conversations I have with God; a dance between my questions and His answers.
“Why so much loss?”
“Why so much change?”
He’s teaching me that life is a process; a cycle of loss and growth. It’s a process that must be respected throughout each step. One must build upon the other. Each step is necessary to move to the next. We remember. We learn. We apply. We trust.
Yes, trust. A little more, with each transition.
We take all the beauty and joy and find it. Not replace it. But find it.
We find it, elsewhere. In the peace of a sunset, the beauty in the clouds, the awe of a mountaintop, the joy in laughter, and our journey with God. Before you know it, the singing returns, the creativity ignites, and the new normal shows up when you least expect it. This sweet friends, is a life well lived. A life with purpose. It’s in the change of the seasons – where life takes place and the legacy lives on.
The nest may be empty, but I am not. Fly, my loves, fly. And remember the way back home.
May the words in the poem below be a reminder this Autumn that………..
Anyone who thinks fallen leaves are dead has never watched them dancing on a windy day.
Shira Tamir
THE EMPTY NEST
My nest is as it should be now, empty.
Tidy, ordered, calm.
My babies have grown, beautifully, and flown.
Just the way I taught them to.
And my heart is full of pride, and love, still so full of love.
But oh there is an ache there, a throb, a pang.
I have given of myself in a way that only a mother can.
So consuming is that gift, there is scarce room for much else to thrive.
So what now?
My empty nest feels hollow, and the echo of my own breath rings in my ears.
My worries have not flown with the fledglings, they linger still,
but now without the comfort of a slumbering head on a pillow upstairs.
My imagination tells the tales I don’t want to see,
and my spare time, once so coveted, is now my enemy.
My nest is as it should be now, empty.
But I will not be empty little one.
I will fly, just like you, find my new place in this story.
Play music, bring friends, make noise and laughter and fill the house with life,
so that when you come home, you see nothing to worry about here, for that will clip your beautiful little wings.
And you will remember how nurturing your nest once was.
And you will crave the feeling of it, just once in a while.
This nest will never close and nor will I let it lose its love.
Fly, my loves, fly.
And remember the way back home.
Donna Ashworth -From her book ‘Love”
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