I went from an empty nest to a home that was packed to the rafters
Johanna Castro is a food and wine loving baby boomer who likes to keep fit and healthy. She loves sharing conversations with women over 50 and writes Lifestyle Fifty to empower women to live the good life as they get older.
It’s the day every mother grows to dread. The one where her last child ups and offs to their respective independent lives and worldly freedom.Of course it’s the day we’ve been preparing them for since they popped into the world, but the day of reckoning brings with it immense change.
Not so long ago I was writing heart-wrenching posts about our nest being empty and how awful it felt; at worst, like the end of the world had come, or at best it felt as if I was missing a vital part, like a limb. I’d wander in and out of empty rooms which echoed with the ghost like sounds of ghastly music, and pathetically I’d longingly touch and smell any garments still hanging in the wardrobes.
What I didn't expect was for either of them to return, nor did I think about how that would be, and at the end of this piece are my few words of (hopeful) wisdom if it happens to you too.
My story
We have two children, 24 and 26 years old and their various leavings have been spread over quite some years.I'm pretty sure that a wrinkle or two on my husband’s forehead magically disappeared as the second child pulled her overstuffed suitcase out of the door and into the car to head off for uni, while the first one was happily in a loving relationship and living in a house of his own.
They were happy. They loved, they were loved, they worked, they travelled, and then one came back seeking sanctuary.
Was it a doomed love affair? Was it bankruptcy? Refugee status? Financial crisis? Noooo. Not a serious crisis, nothing radical – thank goodness.And no reasonable parent can refuse their child shelter from the storm, can they?
The not-so empty nest
As one who enjoys my grown-up children as much as the feisty five year olds they once were, it was an easy decision.So of course the overstuffed rucksack found its way back up the stairs.
I think back to my own childhood, when Dad made it very clear that at 18 I was meant to be out of the house and earning my own crust of bread. I took off with gay abandon heading for the shores of Belgium to work as a groom, misguidedly assuming that within a few weeks my employers would see what a truly great rider I was and I’d be whisked off to international events jockeying their Grade A show jumpers.
From there on I was going to be rich and famous. I was never-ever going to return to the clutches of parental economies or sanction.
Little did I know.
I brushed and walked horses from daylight to sundown until my arms were lean and my legs were taut but much to my chagrin I barely got to ride the horses.
I didn’t exactly beg for sanctuary but I packaged up my tearful diaries (which probably included fabricated tales of being whipped and chivvied and made to muck out for at least 10 hours a day) into brown paper envelopes which were posted back to Mum and Dad for the book I would write one day (never happened).
Doing this was of course more as salve for my beating soul, to get it off my chest, and I’m a dramatist at heart let’s face it. Let no morsel of truth get in the way of a good story and all that.
Within a fairly quick space of time my parents jettisoned their planned itinerary of an extended trip through France and one dark starry night knocked on the door of my digs in Belgium and urged me to pack. Into the back of the car I went, muddy jodhpur boots and all. I was taken back to Mum and Dad's newly childless flat, and child numero uno with its lingering smell of horse, and unmistakable aura of misery and failure, suddenly bolstered-up their empty nest and packed their small living space to the rafters - bringing with it lashings of young adult misunderstanding and clouds of woe.
So that was it. Fame as a world renowned equine star had eluded me, and truth be known I was granted a reprieve in the game of life because this step would be the first on my journey to meet the love of my life (who didn't live in Belgium).
Hold your horses!
I think if you suffer from empty-nest syndrome you shouldn’t turn to filling your time with amateur dramatics, learning to ride, or learning French in preparation for a move to France, for instance. Certainly don’t be too quick to turn the spare room into a study, because those children who have flown from parental clucking - and who for the time being have their own postcode – may well, in the not too distant future, be flying back to yours.
So don't be too startled if one day you hear the sound of a grown-up child’s footsteps marching towards your front door, and try not to smile with too much glee at the prodigal's return.
How to cope with boomerang kids
1. Offer empathy, not pity – they are probably not feeling triumphant about returning home, so don't fuel their feelings of failure, but rather empathise and talk about their future.
2. Discuss what the ground rules for co-habitation will be – will they pay a small rent, what household tasks might they be expected to help with?
3. Don't nag and don't offer unsolicited advice. Remember they are young adults with their own tastes and outlook.
4. Do offer advice if asked – but don't lecture.
5. Enjoy the energy and new perspectives they bring back into the home. Think new music, new opinions, new fashion sense, and new friends.
6. I believe your children are only lent to you for a little while – take every advantage of having them to yourself again.
This article first appeared on Johanna Castro’s blog Lifestyle Fifty.
If you have a story to share please get in touch with melody@oversixty.com.au
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