Blog Posts - families

Empty Nest

Early this spring, one of my Facebook friends posted a photo of a robin’s nest that had appeared in a lilac bush outside her porch. A few days later, she posted another picture: the nest now had two beautiful, blue eggs resting in it. And then, a few weeks later, a photo of the nestlings, their necks extended to the sky, their mouths wide open waiting for their next meal. This was followed, predictably, by a final image—the nest was empty again.

To my surprise, these images evoked a powerful feeling within me. For I knew that in a few short months, the nest that Mary and I had made for our children would be empty. Our son would be graduating from college and heading into the Navy as our daughter would be off to college. Our nest, which for the past 22 years has housed children, would be empty.

I was looking forward to it.

Don’t misunderstand me. I love my kids with everything that is in me. I have found fatherhood to be the most rewarding part of my life and the most important job I have ever done. But I was looking forward to sharing my home with just my wife again (OK, and our dog), as we had before our firstborn arrived.

Mary and I had a full decade together as a married couple before we became parents. This was by design: we wanted to establish ourselves before taking on the awesome responsibility of parenthood.

As I look back on that time, my memory recalls only the good things about being what used to be called DINKs—“Double Income, No Kids”—and has buried whatever problems or tensions we might have shared. I cherish the memory of a time when we had the ability to spontaneously go out for dinner, or go away for a long weekend, or spend the entire day doing yard work together—or do nothing at all.

When first our son and then our daughter arrived, the rhythm of our life changed, as it does for all parents. I cherish those memories too. Trips to the zoo, opening days of school, jumping waves for the first time, watching with pride as children grow and thrive. I wouldn’t trade any of that for anything in the world.

But to everything there is a season, and I am welcoming the coming season. I am under no illusions; I don’t expect to recapture those bygone days of life before kids. We are, after all, different people. We are in the second half of our 50s, not our 20s. We work at entirely different careers now. We’ve each buried both of our parents. And now we pay somebody else to do most of our yard work.

As I think about this next season, this is where the “empty nest” metaphor breaks down. For unlike that robin’s nest, our nest is not empty. It won’t be abandoned and scattered to the wind. It’s the farthest thing from empty, for it is filled with decades of memories—for better and for worse—of a life built and shared together. And our task is to continue to fill it, not with more children (although grandchildren will, in due time, be treasured additions), but rather with new experiences that will continue to sustain us in the seasons that lie ahead.