I’ve always been less than understanding of folks who complain of suffering Empty Nest Syndrome. I love my kids, I’d say, but I sure love having my house to myself, too. If it’s messy, I’ve only myself to blame. I don’t have to lie awake worrying about anyone being out late. I can eat popcorn for dinner whenever I want. My life is finally my own again.
One tiny problem with this oh-so-superior line of reasoning: My nest has never really been empty. Ever since the kids graduated high school, either one of the other has pretty much always lived in the same town or, at the farthest, about an hour and a half away. I’d run into my daughter in the bookstore, my son at the farmers market. Now my daughter and her husband are in Denver, and my son just finished up his journalism degree at UM. Despite the glum state of newspapers these days, I’m confident he’ll get a job. I’m equally confident that job won’t be anywhere near Missoula.
Which means, for the first time in more or less forever, I won’t have a child within shouting distance. I’m a walking anticipatory ache. I think that, instead of popcorn for dinner tonight, I’ll serve myself a big dish of crow.
- Gwen Florio