Two suburbanite boomers throw caution to the wind, postpone retirement, and move to a farm in Indiana. There they intend to live happily ever after.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
The Nest - She Is Empty
We dropped off my youngest boy at college today. We are so proud of him, and so happy that he is on his way to realizing his dreams. But there is also the melancholy of saying goodbye to the child he once was.
Only weeks ago we celebrated the acceptance letter. Then we were caught up in a whirlwind of forms to fill out, orientation (where this photo was taken), details to attend, shopping, packing, and planning. And then, suddenly, it was time to go.
We stuffed the minivan full of our son's things, all the familiar clothing and belongings vanishing into baskets and bags. Three hours later we arrived at Ball State. Three quick trips from the van to the dorm room and it was all over. We hugged and smiled. He shook hands with his dad. And then we went our separate ways.
Already the house is strange. It is too quiet and too empty. Even the cat misses him, pausing at the doorway to our son's dark and silent room, a question in the tilt of his head and one raised paw: Where's our boy? When is he coming back?
We raise them to leave us. That's what they say. But it's both a joy and a sorrow the day they spread their wings and fly.