Their song came on the radio yesterday. The one they played on repeat that entire summer. The one that meant they were home, they were happy, when we were all together.
And then I lost it. Completely. This is the kind of stuff nobody tells you about when you’re in an empty house, your children gone. They might warn you that the house will be quiet. They might mention that you will be sad. They talk about “adjusting” like it’s something you do to your hair.
But nobody mentions the ambush.
Nobody tells you that three weeks after they’ve gone, when you think you’ve found your footing, a song can knock you flat. That you’ll cook dinner for four. That your body will wake at 2 am, still listening for them to come home.
You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine… then you’re sobbing because you reached for their favourite cup.
What Hit Me Hardest
How long it lasts. Six months. A year. Two years. The waves of emptiness still come.
And you wonder: Is something wrong with me?
The answer: There’s nothing wrong with you. Your grief simply reflects the depth of love for your child.
I’ve been having lots of conversations with women navigating this stage of their lives. The empty nest shows up in many predictable, perfectly normal ways nobody warned us about.
Things like your body not catching up with reality. Perimenopause amplifying everything. Missing being needed. Loneliness setting in. Losing your sense of self. Holidays getting you. They’re not missing you the same way.
But the nest doesn’t stay empty forever. Gradually, something new begins to grow in the space. It’s a wider chapter, one that is more fun, exciting and exhilarating. And it’s allowed to be good, even as you grieve what’s gone.
If you’re crying when their song comes on, if you can’t walk past their bedroom, if you’re years in and still feeling the waves… you’re not broken.
Read all 21 ways the empty nest shows up here.
https://drteresaobrien.substack.com/p/21-ways-the-empty-nest-shows-up
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