I'm adding a new title to my name, The Empty Nester.
My husband just finished up an epic whirlwind trip down south to get our daughters settled into their futures.
The older one is a rising junior at Thee Jackson State University. We spent about three full days driving around finding her bed and items for her shared apartment. Move-in was Friday.
We zipped down to New Orleans to get our youngest settled into her dorm at Xavier University of New Orleans. Another non-stop few days. She moved in on Saturday.
When my husband and I sat down on the plane on Monday, we looked at each other.
This is it, we are not raising kids anymore.
But it is new.
Their day-to-day is not our's to plan or manage or keep track of.
This is when we pray that all we instilled in them has prepared them for this new world.
I spent thirty-five straight years with every waking moment, every decision, every thought being centered on how it would impact my sons and daughters. From where we lived to where they went to school to what activities I could put them in that would challenge their creativity, everything was about them.
So when we did the final hugs with our youngest, tears streaming down, there was a finality to it in some ways.
When we made it back to our home in Connecticut, we noticed how quiet it was.
The girls were not loud, but their presence was heard all summer.
I walked to their rooms as I was refreshing the house from our ten day absence, spraying it, looking at the empty beds. They cleaned their rooms before they left. I closed the doors and have no plans of going back in there for a while.
Transitions are journeys that can feel numbing at times, heavy at others, and finally, really light, enjoyable, exciting.
While we will all miss each other and look forward to our reunion, we are all anticipating what the next chapter in our lives will bring.
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