The Quiet Moments – Being an Empty Nester

My house is silent. After thirty years of bringing up my three sons there are no smelly rugby boots by the front door, no water bottles clogging the dishwasher, no cupboard doors left wide open. Surprisingly, the water in my shower is always hot, not arctic cold, as I wait for everyone else to head out the door on their way to school, Uni, work or maybe Dan Murphy’s on a Friday night. 

Now, there is hot water, but there is also no laughter, no -one strumming a guitar while I sort the mountainous mounds of washing. I cook huge lasagnes that no one will eat. No more reaching up high to ruffle their hair, just because. No one to kiss on the forehead as they climb the stairs to bed. No one to disturb my sleep when they arrive home at three in the morning.  

Like many of you I’m adjusting to being an empty nester. Friends have revealed that when their children leave they are overwhelmed by loneliness. The quiet hems them in. It is almost a feeling of grief. 

They don’t know how to talk to their beloved partner of thirty years. There is no beginning or end to their days. They go to bed early and sleep late to fill the time. There is no anchor to their days. They are adrift. 

They hear the tick of the clock, the silence of the dryer on a rainy day, suddenly noticing bird song and the calls of the neighbourhood children while their own empty rooms gather dust. Many wander around the house in a daze, wondering what to do after years of complaining about all the driving, cooking, mountains of ironing and cleaning up, after the family have trashed the kitchen….again.

They miss the early Saturday morning sport. They’d always thought they wanted peace and quiet to just read the papers. It doesn’t really take that long to read the papers when there is no one needing your attention.

They miss the silly made up songs and those impulsive big bear hugs as they unload the dishwasher for the fourth time that day. They miss the raucous brother wrestling and the cries of ‘ incoming ‘ as a ball whistles past their ears. Balls aren’t really allowed in the house. They even miss enforcing all those silly rules. They really miss those deep conversations that only ever happen in the car or sitting up at the kitchen bench as they are busy cooking. Those chats that don’t need an answer just a listening ear. 

I miss these things too but I am happy. My job for now is done. They are safe. They are well. They are happy. This makes me happy too. I am but a phone call away, even when oceans separate us.

They have their own partners now to hear their woes, to kiss them goodnight, to fill up those water bottles, find the mislaid rugby boot and worry when they are late home. There is someone else to gauge just by hearing the closing of the car door whether they are happy or sad. 

As my husband and I sit in the stillness together drinking coffee, perhaps wine, and binging on another episode of The Staircase with Toni Collette and Colin Firth, the characters are getting ready for a party. It’s an empty nesters party. Who knew such a thing existed? We stare at each other open mouthed, before sharing a wicked smile and in that moment I know what I need to do to still the quiet. It’s time to throw a party. 

Maybe, just maybe, the boys will want to come too. I’d better bake a lemon meringue pie.