Distance

Distance. You’re used to having your children near you, with you, around you, surrounding you.

Then the day comes when they move out and you’re faced with: distance.

My older daughter, Anna, has moved to LA. She started a summer session at college to get familiar with her new surroundings and new life.

We live in San Francisco.

Clearly, we are experiencing the distance. 361 miles to be exact (according to Google Maps). This distance doesn’t seem to be too difficult to overcome. You can drive down, or fly down quite easily. It’s a 5 and a half hour drive or a quick flight; only one hour from SFO to LAX.

I’m a single mother working full time. I have a younger daughter, Klara, who is still living at home (until she moves to college in a couple of days).

When I get a phone call from my older daughter that she is not feeling well, has right sided muscle weakness and decreased sensation in her limbs, I’m faced with the dilemma: do I rush down to LA to be by her side or do I wait by the phone, while she’s in the ER for 12 hours, and pray to God that she will not be diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis or a brain tumor?

I decide to stay and wait to see what the doctors say. If they find something serious then I’ll hop on a plane, leave my younger one to fend for herself, and go take care of Anna.

Of course, I think to myself that IF their father would be living with us, we could divide and conquer. One of us could stay with Klara, and the other could go down and make sure that Anna is OK.

But I have two daughters, one who is preparing to leave home, and one who is far from home ill and in the ER. And I’m by myself.

I can’t be in two places at the same time (wouldn’t it be wonderful to instantaneously teleport, ie. apparate, from one place to another, like in the Harry Potter books? Why can’t technology solve these mundane needs?).

My daughters have learned that things cannot always be taken care of as easily as if they would have two parents living at home. The logistics of solving a situation are much more complicated and difficult; for me and also for them.

It’s a huge step for Anna, who has to sit alone for 12 hours in the ER (although luckily her friend stays with her for the first 3 hours). She has to talk to the doctors, figure out the system, get a cab home. For her this is an enormous step towards experiencing adulthood and independence. And the distance. My heart bleeds for her, my anxieties are intense; but I can’t overcome the distance.

Distance: from her mother, comfort, safety, and a big hug telling her that everything will be OK.

p.s. For those of you who are worried: the brain scan is negative! They let her go home at 3 am in the morning. She’ll see a doctor tomorrow for further evaluation but what I feared the most, a lesion or bleeding in her brain, was not found. Thank God!

My first thoughts on becoming an empty nester as a single parent

Today is the first day of school in our school district for kids K-12. As I was walking to the bus stop in the morning to go to work, a mother was walking her daughter to school, maybe for the first time. It suddenly occurred to me, that for our family, this is the first time neither of my daughters start school today.

Both of them are going to college in a few weeks. I am becoming an “empty nester”. A word often just as ominous for mothers and fathers as the word “menopause” is for most women over forty-five. Until… you accept the fact that this is the new and natural chapter in your book of Life.

In my mind becoming an empty nester is difficult when you’re happily married, a bit more difficult when you’re unhappily married, and may be the most difficult when you are a single parent. I’m assuming that the emotional turbulence that any parent goes through- whether with or without partner- is similar in magnitude (unless you’ve created a monster and can hardly wait to get rid of your beloved kid). One moment you feel depressed, anxious, even scared of what the future brings, what you’ll do with your life, how you’ll spend your free time. In another moment you realize that FINALLY you get to live your own life, do what you want, focus on a hobby, exercise more, etc.

The missing piece is being able to share the “empty nest” experience with the person you’ve created your family with.

The other night my girls and I were watching the episode in Modern Family where Phil and Claire Dunphey take Haley, their oldest daughter, to college and move her into the dorm. There’s a scene when the three of them say their good-byes and the parents sit in the car in silence while driving home.

This is the moment I’m dreading. While they have each other for comfort (and two more kids waiting at home). They can give each other’s hand a squeeze, talk about their feelings, or just sit together in silence and contemplate how the new chapter of their lives will evolve. In contrast, I’ll be sitting in my car or on the plane going home after dropping the girls at college and experiencing the emptiness that is left behind – alone.

Alone is the key word here. I’m a veteran lone parent; I’ve been raising my daughters without their father for fifteen years. I’m used to managing my family, myself, and my emotions – alone. In retrospect it’s easy when your life is full of chatter, drama, laughter, and tears. You go with the flow and sometimes think how great it would be to share these moments with their father but only when it becomes silent, when they fly out of the nest, will I be facing reality. That I’m alone.

The empty nest is the new phase. The noise of the chaos and emotional roller coaster of our everyday lives becomes silent.

I will initially be sharing my steps taken throughout this journey; how I experience these moments and how I adjust my life and embrace the new chapter I was luckily given. Because being an empty nester also means that you’ve succeeded, that you’ve had a child or children in your life, raised them to your best capabilities, and are able to let them go to fly free. And letting them go is key!