Dear Friends,
My youngest baby will be leaving the nest for college in 14 days. These last weeks have seemed to go on so long—more bitter than sweet. I want to drink in every moment, and at the same time, my daughter is sometimes pushing me away as she prepares. She is separating; and I, despite my deep intellectual support of the process, am somehow trying to hold on.
Marina and Barbara at Shark Fin Cove, Aug. 2018
It’s a primal dance that has gone on forever. A wise woman told me recently that it’s a second time of labor. She is leaving the womb of our home. This very moment of that second labor is the transition phase. For every woman who has given birth, or for anyone who has witnessed birth, the transition phase is the excruciating final threshold as the baby descends. It hurts, a lot. This “second labor” also hurts a lot, but in my heart.
It’s so different than I thought it would be. This is my second and final leaving of the nest. I thought it would be easier!! It’s not. After my first baby left I still had a chick to focus on.
In today’s world of cell phones, texting and instant communication, it is easier to stay connected than when I went off to college 35 years ago. Right at this moment, that fact isn’t consoling.
My communication with my mom and dad back in the 1980’s was through handwritten letters, along with a weekly phone call. We couldn’t stay on the phone too long because it was expensive, so there was this sense of scarcity that I filled with hours of writing long and thoughtful letters.
And the phone wasn’t in our pocket, it was in another building—in a booth, often with a line of other students waiting to call home too.
Now communication is instant and limitless. I know that will help once she is gone, but it makes no difference in this process of anticipating the separation.
My husband isn’t having the same experience. He focuses on the benefits of a tidy house and the reduced daily complications of life. Of course, he will miss her too, but it’s different.
For me I am reminded of walking away from pre-school that first time, feeling as though I had left a limb behind. I don’t want to be sad, but I am, deeply. Tears are in my eyes as I write these words.
The other day, a dear colleague in the office saw I was sad and she said, “Don’t try to push your feelings away, just acknowledge them and be with them. Resistance ultimately makes it harder.” It was the perfect message for me in that moment, and I hope those words are helpful to you if you are also going through a transition.
This beautiful poem captures the universal, yet intensely personal, experience of the empty nest:
One Moon
I know it happens every day.
But for me here, right now,
standing in your empty room,
this separation is hard to bear.
Children go away;
yes, this is what they want.
The thousands of things
we did together,
the days of play, delights
and sorrow too, of course,
are past now, sacred memories.
My girl, all of your life’s
before you like a shimmering blue cloth.
Tonight, out in the winter chill,
I saw the crescent moon, its light
faint but enduring and remembered
the ancient song:
One moon is lantern to us all.
Wherever you are or wherever I am,
this light shines down on both of us.
Starr Goode 2016
Wishing you peaceful transitions,
Barbara Fagan-Smith
CEO, ROI Communication
Chief Catalyst, Living ROI
P.S. Here’s a helpful article from the NY Times, How to Thrive in an Empty Nest
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