My nest is about to be empty. One little birdie left little by little—I’ll be home by eleven” turned into midnight that turned into tomorrow that turned into “Can I come home to do my laundry?” The other little birdie is jumping in one fell swoop—no time to hop when she can soar. What’s a momma bird to do when her little birdies no longer need her help to fly? I have to have faith that I did what I could to help my girls fly, or at least how to survive a crash landing.
My life is changing, ready or not. For someone who thinks she isn’t a control freak, I am, and I am freaking out. Empty Nester. My life has passed by so quickly—I couldn’t wait to leave my parent’s nest, build my own, and fill it with birdies. What’s next? Mid-life crisis? One would have to admit they are middle-aged. Why would I do that when I have a good friend named denial? Denial and I are very, very close. She tells me I look as good as I did in my twenties, that my clothing size is still in the single digits, and it’s OK to lie about your weight on your driver’s license. I love her. For some reason though, she’s not sugar-coating this. It’s going to be heartbreaking and painful, but also exciting to see my youngest daughter set out on her own adventure and fulfil one of her life long dreams.
I believe I’ve taught my daughters to be brave, strong, and willing to take a risk for something they truly believe in. Now it’s time for me to do the same. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a writer. My mom bought me my first typewriter. It was old and clunky and I wish still had it. I don’t think she will ever know how much that act of love meant to me. It gave me freedom. It’s time to write, write, write. And if you ask me if I’m writing, and I say no, please firmly, but lovingly ask me to get my shit together. This empty nester has work to do!