#singleparent

Watch the Sun Set and Breathe

/ csillac / Leave a comment

My second week as an empty nester.

I do get sad sometimes. It really comes in waves. For example, when I was flying home from a business trip it really hit me hard that once I get home the house will be empty. No hugs and kisses waiting for me at the door.

But I’m also trying to look at the bright side of things.

One; now there is no real reason for me to hurry home.

And I’m not only talking about getting home from work (I do try to hurry home just to get out of the office).

I don’t even have to hurry home from my walk on the beach. I can take a nice, relaxing walk, enjoy the murmur of the waves, feel the breeze on my face, sit and watch the sun set….

I smile. I feel good. And it’s OK. I have every right to.

Just because I’m an empty nester doesn’t mean that I have to be sad and suffer constantly from being alone. I can actually enjoy this.

I was reading one empty nester newby’s Facebook posts. She seems to fly down to LA to see her son almost every two weeks.

Aren’t we supposed to get a life? A life of our own? Haven’t we spent the last 18-20 years hurrying home just to be with them and care for them? I swear, that was the best chapter of my life so far. I love(d) being with them and spending time with them….

But it’s also nice to finally start living for myself.

And believe me, it doesn’t minimize my love and devotion to my kids if I finally start enjoying my life.

Tip of the Day (or week or month; depending how often I come up with a tip): Watch the Sun Set and Breathe……

Sounds of Silence

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The house is empty. I guess I’m officially an “empty-nester”. A single-parent empty-nester (or as my typo would say: empty-nexter)

Both my girls are in college now. A chapter of my life has concluded- with a new one beginning.

The house is silent. I’m surrounded by silence. The chatter, the occasional screaming and yelling filling the four walls, will be missing. This is the moment that I’ve been dreading.

But at the same time I’m also relieved and proud. I’ve worked very hard as a single parent to get to this point in our lives. I’m extremely lucky to see my daughters become successful independent women, attend great colleges, start off on their own, and learn the ropes of life.

And I know that the phone will ring most days and my daughters and I will talk, see each other on Skype, or send a flurry of texts. But the intimacy that we’re used to, the hugs and kisses that we usually share, will only be left for the special occasions- when they come home for a break or I go visit them.

At my younger one’s parent orientation I felt like the oddball. When I looked around in the auditorium it seemed to me that the parents were there as a couple. Very similar to when you go to a party by yourself and everyone else is there with their partner. I guess the “normal” way of dropping of your kid is going there- both Mom and Dad- and then leaving; giving each other comfort as you drive (or fly) away from your child who you won’t see for a long time.

I must confess I was disturbed by being there alone- even though I’m used to it. I’m usually alone.

Dropping my daughters off at college is exactly the moment I didn’t want to experience by myself. I would’ve liked to experience it with their father. I know that this is not possible. I know this; and if I think about it long and hard I don’t really want to share the moment with him anymore; after all we’ve been through. Still; it would’ve been nice if that’s how life would have happened.

I feel numb now. I dropped my younger one off last week but my older one was still with me. I was sad; and of course I cried. But my older one was with me. Now I’ve dropped her off too; and there is no one with me. I’m alone.

I get home; get out of the cab; open my front door and my home is silent; as expected.

I put on some music on, pour a glass of wine, and light a candle.

And start the new chapter of my life.

Both scary and exciting at the same time!

Distance

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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

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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!