empty nest, changing role
I found myself sitting alone at dinner, again. It seems to be more frequent now.
Elle has moved into an apartment near campus. It was the right time. Although it came upon us so suddenly. She will graduate high school in June. However, she has completed her credits and moved on to "full time degree seeking" college student. In fact, she is on track to graduate at 20. I seem to have lost a year that I was so desperately clinging to.
Mara is back in school. She lives at home. We rarely see her except to sleep and do laundry. She seems focused now on her major, biology. The lab courses alone consume her time. She stopped working to focus on school. It proved too much to attempt both student and full time work last semester. It was a long road around for her, like so many her age. I would say that I am a big supporter of the "gap year" now.
My role has changed. Ripped from beneath me like a magician pulling a table cloth from an elegant table setting. Just a little rustle and everything settles as it was. but the cloth is gone, much like my role as mother. My identity for more than half my life.
Once again I face transition. This may be the hardest one yet. I believe I am in the grieving stage.
Yes, most definitely grieving.
Elle has moved into an apartment near campus. It was the right time. Although it came upon us so suddenly. She will graduate high school in June. However, she has completed her credits and moved on to "full time degree seeking" college student. In fact, she is on track to graduate at 20. I seem to have lost a year that I was so desperately clinging to.
Mara is back in school. She lives at home. We rarely see her except to sleep and do laundry. She seems focused now on her major, biology. The lab courses alone consume her time. She stopped working to focus on school. It proved too much to attempt both student and full time work last semester. It was a long road around for her, like so many her age. I would say that I am a big supporter of the "gap year" now.
My role has changed. Ripped from beneath me like a magician pulling a table cloth from an elegant table setting. Just a little rustle and everything settles as it was. but the cloth is gone, much like my role as mother. My identity for more than half my life.
Once again I face transition. This may be the hardest one yet. I believe I am in the grieving stage.
Yes, most definitely grieving.
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