An almost empty nest? by Alex Marchant
I’m sitting here
today contemplating the desolation of an empty nest.
That
may be something of an exaggeration, if I’m being honest. For my elder sister,
it perhaps isn’t: she’s been a parent for thirty years, and this summer saw the
last of her three children leaving home (to move 500 miles away), along with
both his wedding and that of his sister, only six weeks apart. Months of frenetic
preparations, book-ended by major family celebrations (and with the arrival of a
new grandchild to the third sibling in the midst of everything), and then she
and her husband find themselves alone in the anti-climactic aftermath, in the
now-too-big family home, waiting for the next time the loved-up newlyweds deign
to think of calling in…
In
my case, it will only be a part-time empty nest, a transitional stage that
hopefully will prepare me gradually for what is to come later – that time
when it’s just me, my partner and the dog (and maybe still the elderly cat) in the house. Every ten weeks or so, our younger daughter – off to university
for the first time next week – will be back for three or four weeks at least to
remind us just what it’s like to live alongside a teenager.
Our
elder daughter has one more year of university left, so we began the fledging
process a little while ago. Those frantic final weeks of an A-level summer –
full of last-minute buying sprees and training in financial management, cooking,
laundry, etc. (yes, I know we should have done it sooner…) – followed by the
drop-off at her shared student house, declined into a normal September return-to-school
for the youngest and return-to-work-routine for me. I still rose at 6.30 am to
shoo the remaining offspring out the door to catch the school bus, and broke
off work at 3.30 to hear all about her day. The only noticeable difference was a
tidy ‘spare’ room (I spent the first free weekend blitzing No. 1 daughter’s
room in a cathartic process that led to her commenting it was like a hotel room
on her first return home) and a reduction in the number of available afternoon
dog-walkers.
This
time will be different, though. The major structure of my day – and my weekends
– will disappear. Already I’ve abandoned the 6.30 start (as a night owl, it was
always purgatory to me, especially returning to it after the school holidays),
and I’m finding my morning ‘routine’ now stretches later and later. Even the dog
has learned to be patient – if my ‘big boots’ and his lead go on before 9, he’s
in luck. I need to be careful, though – if I’m not, given my poor grasp of time
management, it’ll soon be lunchtime before I’m ready to go into the big, wide
world (or up on to the big, wide moors, anyway…)
The
potential to drift, then, is perhaps my main worry when a primary reason for
much of what I do is no longer here (no one to ferry around in the
parental taxi, or hassle to empty the dishwasher or walk the dog, or whinge at
about – well, about almost anything teenager-y). The prospect of two daughters
returning to the nest every few weeks (either both at once for the vacation, or
separately for an odd weekend) means my life won’t suddenly seem bereft of
meaning – which, I gather, is what some parents feel when ambushed by
empty-nest syndrome.
But,
yes, this is only the part-time empty-nest stage. The phase when children take
their time to grow into young adults, trying out their wings while knowing they
can return to the nest at any time and find their place there (largely)
unchanged. When the first major stage of parenting has been successfully
achieved, and you can take satisfaction in knowing you’ve guided them this far,
and they’re ready to launch themselves into their next stage. A launch for
them, but a gradual letting-go for … well, for me at least, if not others in
the same situation.
Will
it be the same when the nest empties for good?
Alex is author of two books telling the story of the real King Richard III for children aged 10+, the first set largely in Yorkshire, and editor of Grant Me the Carving of My Name, an anthology of short fiction inspired by the king, sold in support of Scoliosis Association UK (SAUK). A further anthology, Right Trusty and Well Beloved..., is due out 1 November.
Alex's books can be found on Amazon at:
Comments