Thoughts on
Empty-Nesting By GERRI SNYDER
Just about a year ago, I packed up my last child for
college and drove her to her destination, American University, with the
trusty minivan packed to the gills with all of the paraphernalia a
college freshman can’t live with-out. My husband and I peeked in the
rear view mirror over the boxes and bins and mini refrigerator and took
a good long look at our 17-year-old, plugged into her headphones and
eagerly peering out the side windows so as not to miss a thing.
During the long ride through I-95 traffic, my husband
took advantage of his last chance to ply her little head with all of the
advice he could get away with imparting. Knowing from experience that
17-year-olds “know it all,” I sat quietly while he told her for about
the 99th time not to go on campus alone after dark and to keep track of
all her debit receipts.
She was our fourth child, after all, and our third
girl. Girls of this age never seem to get along with their mothers, and
every attempt on my part to have an adult discussion with her seemed to
turn into an argument. So I sat back and let her become aggravated with
her dad instead.
My son, on the other hand, would have listened very
respectfully to me and then gone off and done whatever he wanted.
Consequently, I prayed a lot while he was in college. I still do, 10
years and three colleges later, while he is in graduate school.
I had a special song for my other girls, one that I
always thought of (or sang, much to their disgust) on the way to and
from their respective colleges. For my oldest daughter, I chose “Wide
Open Spaces,” because she started college in the green rolling hills and
wide open spaces of James Madison University. She later transferred to
William and Mary, but I never changed her song. It seemed to fit her
personality.
For my middle daughter, I chose a song called
“Tennessee Road,” because she was going to school near Nashville as a
Recording Industry major. In her four years there, we spent a lot of
time on the Tennessee road, traveling 11 hours each way to move her in
and out each year.
My son never had a song from me. Until he ended up at
Radford, he never spent enough time at any one place for me to establish
his song. He majored in music anyway, so he had plenty of songs of his
own. As I said, I spent a lot of time praying when we were en route to
and from his colleges.
Back home in our strangely empty
four-bedroom home, I actually relished my first week alone. I went on a
mad cleaning binge and got rid of junk that I wanted to dispose of years
ago. I made gourmet meals for my husband accompanied by wine and
candlelight on the rare occasions we didn’t “take out” or eat out.
By the second week alone, I started rearranging
furniture and remodeling bedrooms. One of the three bedrooms became an
office.
Our two dogs and cat were con-fused by all of the
dust I was kicking up in the quiet house and followed me from room to
room. They all tried to get in bed with my husband and me at night. One
of the dogs moped around with an eternally sad look on her face. I
contemplated having her treated for depression. During the third week, I
transformed into Betty Crocker and feverishly made homemade soups and
stews and baked goods, which I froze in individual containers for all of
my chicks. Whenever I was shopping, I would pick up little things I
thought they could use and put them in their rooms in piles for whenever
I’d see them next.
I still hadn’t established my
daughter’s “song.” Maybe I needed a little time to adjust to her
absence. On her part, however, she seemed to settle right in at school
and called us frequently or emailed to share her experiences and ask her
father for advice. The two of us chuckled over the fact that we seemed
to have more frequent and more enjoyable conversations on the phone late
at night or online than we did when she was living at home.
I was positively gleeful when she called me on my
cell phone and asked for laundry advice while I was at Bunco. My Bunco
friends with teenagers still at home listened with awe while I patiently
imparted the instructions I had tried to give her before she left home.
The first time we went up to see her at school, we
were proud that we had managed to refrain from visiting until we
actually got an invitation. She greeted us with the biggest hug of our
lives and a huge smile. She introduced us proudly to everyone who said
hello to her.
I sat in amazement while my daughter put away her
groceries in her dorm room, where her bed was neatly made and her
clothes were hung up. Could this be the same daughter whose bedroom at
home was a national health and safety hazard? We were astounded.
A grocery store, a bank and a shopping mall later, we
finally gave into my hungry husband’s demands and stopped for dinner. He
looked into his near-empty wallet pensively and announced that we
probably couldn’t afford more frequent visits to American University.
Maybe we should make her song, “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?”
However, as we were saying goodbye, I noticed him
insisting that she take “a little spending money.” On the way home, we
made plans to visit our other three children.
After raising four children and retiring from
teaching, Gerri Snyder is enjoying life in Midlothian with her husband
and pets. In her spare time, she writes essays and has completed her
book, “Tales and Tidbits for the Tireless Tourist.”
