Yesterday I felt like crying.
Because yesterday I said goodbye to both sons. One left bright and early, heading for the airport. The other left an hour later to drive across the state.
The house felt empty without them. I felt empty without them. Bereft. No longer whole.
You’d think by now I would be used to seeing them go.
You’d think, after a month of juggling schedules, hosting parties and staying up way too late, I would be relieved to regain the peace and quiet of my empty nest and return to some semblance of normalcy.
And yet …
I miss them. A lot.
Why has this particular goodbye affected me so strongly? I don’t know. Hormones, perhaps. Or maybe it was losing both at once. Whatever the reason, the ache of loss persisted long after the rumble of the old blue Mustang faded into the distance. Even the texts announcing they arrived safely at their destinations did not shake the melancholy that settled in my heart.
It is hard for a mother to say goodbye to her children.
Many of you understand. You’ve stood in the doorway and watched a child …
- return to college to resume their studies.
- drive off, heading for their own home in another state.
- head overseas for a semester abroad.
- leave for the mission field.
- ship out for a stint of active duty.
Logic will tell you that some leave-takings are more serious than others, but logic has nothing to do with grief, or loss or a mother’s heart. Every goodbye has the potential for heartbreak, no matter how insignificant it might seem.
I remember how heart-wrenching it was, leaving my nine-year-old for his first week of camp. I spent the week trying not to think about how much I missed him. My son spent the week having a marvelous time. He later admitted he hadn’t missed me at all. He was too busy having fun.
Sigh.
Letting go is not easy, whether our kids are nine or twenty.
But we must let them go.
So I am choosing to embrace my empty house. When a wave of melancholy settles over me, I will think back over the happy times we’ve enjoyed. I will remind myself of all my sons are accomplishing as they pursue their studies. I will pray for them.
Then I will get back to work.
What about you? Do you have trouble saying goodbye? What helps you let go and move on?
Shelly says
Oh you know I can relate 🙂 there is typically a smile that accompanies the tears for this girl, for the exact reasons you mentioned-I am so proud of all he is doung & watching him grow into a godly man (same goes for all my other ‘kids’ too-God has blessed me with a full quiver…just not in quite the same way as others.)
Lisa says
The watching them become men part is wonderful, but the watching them head out the door part is hard. Unfortunately you can’t have one without the other. Happy crying Shelly. 🙂
Kim says
I agree. No matter how many times she leaves, it’s sad to see her go. No matter how proud I am that she is independent and able to be on her own, I am sad to see her go. The house is lonely, no matter how many of us are in this house, it’s lonely. Empty. After we know she made it back to college safely, we all return to what we now know as normal, but it will never be the same as having them home when they were children. I think we as parents miss that time and want that time back (at least now and then) but they want to keep moving on because they have a world ahead of them. We’ve lived our “adventures” and we look back, they look ahead. It’s never easy to say goodbye. I look at my dog and tell her, Well, it’s just you and me again! And somehow she knows to stop listening for her car to pull in the garage, she knows to stop anticipating seeing her and her friends come in for a flurry of activity. It’s just me and my dog…till next visit home!
Lisa says
We look back, they look ahead. Very true. And we want them to look ahead, to move on. But still, that empty place at the table tugs at our heart.