Yesterday I went to a seminar titled "Empty Nest Syndrome" and learned approximately nothing, but it felt good to sit in a big room with a bunch of goofy parents steeling ourselves for the big good-bye. I don't need anyone telling me that it's all good and right and the way things are supposed to go. I know all that. I haven't fully processed or articulated what it's like to really
never have an "empty nest" in the narrowest definition of the term, given my life as a primary caregiver to my beloved Sophie. Life goes on in a sort of eternal present for me and Sophie, even as my sons move forward, and I don't mean this in a bad or heavy kind of way. I will try at some point to write about it, to parse out the peculiarity of maintaining a nest even as my own impulse is to fly away to a new part of life. As they say. I texted a fellow caregiver during the seminar that I was going to drop a bomb on the person leading it by asking whether
taking up a new hobby or
planning a trip would help the "Never an Empty Nest Syndrome," and my friend texted back,
Do it, and I smiled and looked up and let my mind drift to all the years, all the years. I am so damn proud of Oliver, of all he's accomplished and the young man he's become. I'm sad in an existential way that my job raising him is largely over even as I know in my bones that mothering is so deeply embedded, I might as well be one of those orca matriarchs whose sons never leave her. I'm going to tell you a story about something he said the other day in response to us witnessing a terrible motorcycle accident on our drive from Los Angeles to Tucson. Oliver was driving, and I was reading when he yelled out and grabbed me and I looked up to see a guy flipping over and over and a bike in the air and the guy rolling on the road and then we were past and pulled over and I was calling 911 and then Oliver pulled back out on the highway and we were on our way our hearts pumping and both of us exclaiming and repeating over and over what we'd seen and that terrible rush in the body for many minutes before we quieted.
You know what's really weird, Mom? Oliver asked, and I said,
What? and Oliver said,
I noticed that guy a while back on his bike and he had a flag or something on his jacket and I thought he was probably a stupid Trump supporter or gun guy or just an asshole on a bike, but when he went flying through the air, I saw his shirt go up his back and it was ripped up, his back was all red and I felt bad for him and then I thought that everything in the world is going to be okay because of that, that we feel bad for and care about people, about life. It's about love and that kind of thing.
P.S. Lest you believe my son to have reached some lofty place of magnanimity and compassion, led there by a mother more bodhisattva than human, I'll confess that we decided we wouldn't feel the same way if it'd been Dear Leader who'd been on that motorcycle.
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The view from Oliver's penthouse dorm room.
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Oliver the grown up man. My first distinct memory from you talking about him was a time when you told about being on a walk with him and Sophie. People were staring and he asked if he could flip them off. I loved that. And now he's grown up and I am so happy he is in this world because we need young people like him. And I'd also have no problem with DT flying through the air.
ReplyDeleteYour Oliver is wise beyond his years.
ReplyDeleteI almost feel as if he is "ours." We have come to love him so much.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful post, Elizabeth.
Lord, what a horrible thing to see. I appreciate Oliver's take on it. I think he's right -- as long as we have some sympathy for our fellow humans, all is not lost!
ReplyDeleteAch, you've a good young man.
ReplyDeleteI saw someone on twitter being castigated by hypocrite, faux-outraged Republicans for being happy Koch was dead. Ther are bad people on the world whose life hurt others. It's ok to acknowledge the world would be better off without them!
What a horrible thing to witness. I am glad you were with each other and Oliver is so right: It's about love and that kind of thing.
ReplyDeleteWe are all still discovering "that kind of thing" all the time.
A syndrome (as in Empty Nest Syndrome) is basically a combination of characteristics and behaviours and opinions, it has no definite pathology and only in the rarest of cases comes with a specific treatment.
I am currently suffering from "return to the nest syndrome" with its subgroup of "why did you change the nest" behaviours, esp. in relation to the fridge contents.
I do hope Oliver will be happy at UofA. I transferred there as a junior and loved it so much I stayed for years, waiting for a recession to be over so I could find a job. Things were much cheaper then! Oliver has truly become his own wonderful person.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth I have been thinking about you and Oliver lately our boys and what it’s like when they leave us and what it’s like when they come back and all of it is just so hard it never really goes away they come back and they leave they come back and each time a little bit of your heart goes away with them. Your situation is unique and I watch you parent with awe and deep admiration. I love you and you are extraordinary.
ReplyDeleteRebecca
I will never forget your decision to homeschool Oliver, the way you safeguarded and scaffolded him, emotionally and intellectually, the adventures you share, the talks you had. I learned so much from you both during that time. And now he’s a man. You did that. He did that. I was privileged to witness it happening. So excited for him!
ReplyDeleteOMG.
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, I'd feel the same way.
You did good mama.
ReplyDeleteHe has a nice view. I'm with you on 'never an empty nest syndrome' and even have had 'return to the nest syndrome', so I would suppose that should there ever be an empty nest, I'll have that syndrome too. Oliver's reaction to witnessing a horrific event is a glimpse into the very Heart of a Good Man.
ReplyDeleteCoronado dorm? My daughter was there last year as a freshman!
ReplyDelete