Memoir Writing: The Empty Nest
I HAD THE PEANUT BUTTER. The large-mouth jar of chunky. I had the spoon. The soup spoon, to be specific, the logic being the more peanut butter at once, the better. I had chosen well from Netflix and had them all cued up: Three weeks of tear-jerking, slobberingly family-oriented dramas that would make we wail and writhe. The heating pad was arranged on the couch before we left, as was the therapeutic pillow and the down comforter, all ready for my return from when we dropped her off for her first year of college. All I had to do was walk in, drop my bags, grab the peanut butter and we’d be set.
My husband would go back to work the next day, which was fine with me and how he deals with things. I would not want to talk with anyone, teach anything or make any calls, and so I banished the phone from the room.
I had my breakdown all planned out.
And then it didn’t happen. Not the first day back, when she called and said, “Mom, I’ve met my people.” Not the second day when she discovered one of the rooftop views of our nation’s Capitol from her campus. Not the third, when she was on a group trip to Congress to meet the chief of staff of the great and indefatigable John Lewis.
It just didn’t happen. She was too happy.
Then, about two-weeks into the quiet, I came upon the dog lying in her room. He never goes in there. He’s not allowed. Allergies and dust and dog behavior prevent it, but I was looking for him around the house, not knowing where he had gone. And there he was. And when I walked in, he didn’t even raise his head. He looked like he could not do so, in the kind of lethargy that real loss can bring.
“Oh, you silly, silly boy,” I said to him, which is what she says to him all the time, and I slid to the floor and wept.
Uggg . . . it got me right in the chest. I’m 10 months away from this chapter – but I can imagine quite a similar picture . . .
Lovely. I really enjoyed the way you reversed field that way, Marion, seemingly escaping the grief, imagining you had eluded it, only to to find it waiting you in doleful canine form on the floor or her room. I think sometimes readers are of two minds–they want to experience the emotion of the piece, but then again they are afraid. So you do the unexpected, giving us what we wanted, but not at the time or in the way we expected. It’s a lovely evocation of the dog, too. They are so endearing partly because they just can’t hide their emotions. Ever. And the final action is so brief and abrupt that it takes your breath away. I almost sobbed with you.
Just beautiful. I was reading thinking, “Ah, like me, she is totally fine with her child leaving.” And then, the pup speaks the truth of your heart. My two dogs do the same. My grandchildren live with us during the summer, and my corgi adores my grandson. They lie together on the rug, talking to each other. When he returns she vocalizes her happiness, and I smile.
Thank you for that.
Gulp! Something is stuck in my throat!
Thank you, Marion. You have my heart. But, it just gets better and better, each time they come home, and you see their newness. Then you’re blue when they leave for a little while, but that gets better, too. Your heart adjusts.
What are children for, but to make their parents grow up, let go and become as independent as we hoped our kids up to be?
The title. The photo. They set the scene. Then you whack us with the truth of grief. It just won’t be held to a schedule.
Well done, Marion, well done.
“Lovely, nicely done,” as you would say. I loved the preparations for the sadness that didn’t come, because she was happy. Then the dog who doesn’t know she is okay, reaches into your heart pulling out the silence of her room, and it hit you.
(We are in the same boat as of Aug. I found an afghan that was always neatly tucked between the bed and the wall pulled into the middle of the floor, and it had been slept on by our dog when we were’t home. He must miss the kids. He has never done anything like this before either.)
Ahhh and yes. Both. We also brought our child to school, the middle of our three. As we watched him stride off toward his new life having said so long in the parking lot, I found my heart swell with joy for him rather than contract.
My own grief over his departure hit me days before we pulled out of the driveway, although I have written notes about it, I have yet to really unpack it. Somewhere in the noticing there is a thread back to how I feel…
This beautiful post reminds me it’s day to unfold on the page will come. Thank you.
Pitch perfect, Marion. And I say that with a lump in my throat.
Oh, do I understand. As a widow, this was a solo mission for me. After the dreaded drop-off, I detoured for two days on the Southern California coast because I dreaded having to return to an empty home.
And, it will happen over and over again. I’m not sure we talk enough about the grieving period parents go through when the last child marches off into the sunset (even when they return with a big ole bag of laundry). It’s been 4 years since my youngest left, and I still find myself occasionally welling up and wondering, where the hell did those years (and my babies) go?
Well done! I loved your opening with the focus on the peanut butter, the spoon creating such a great visual – but for what? You pulled me right in.
well, it didn’t take that Long for me, I send my son off to basic training half a world away yesterday, cried all day….
Funny thing is our cat will finally relax, as she never liked my son…made me cry some more….
I’m with you, sister. Every step. Including that one, but it was his cat that made me buckle. Beautiful piece. Thank you.
Beautifully done, Marion…thanks for sharing this. I love how you set the scene, show how carefree your daughter’s happiness makes you feel and then how your surprise ending hits us squarely in the heart…thank you !
Perfect.
The last of my children has gone off to college this year and it’s funny because I went through the same expectations of thinking I would be terribly sad. But whenever I would hear from my daughter how happy she was and what a great fit the school was for her, her content was contagious. While she has been diving into her courses, learning her new job, while meeting, and making connections with new friends, I have rejoined the gym, increased my work, and writing time.
It wasn’t until I received a small birthday package with a little note from her that something hit me. My little mouse was off into the world beginning her adult life and an era had ended. It was a stark and unsettling thought as I held each item that I knew she had lovingly picked out for me. That’s empty nest I guess, one minute you’re flying high and the next all the air has been let out of your balloons.
Utterly gorgeous. I wrapped around your stalwart pooch with you. She would be so proud of you for delaying the meltdown. Hugs Momma
Beautiful post. I’m an empty nester now too. Seeing their empty bedrooms and their favorite foods in the market made me weepy in the beginning. Now I’m used to it, except for when they come home to visit and it starts all over again.
I was doing just fine until the dog. *sniff* Lovely piece, Marion.