The Grief of the Empty Nest

Empty nest syndrome is worse than I thought it would be.

About 18 months ago, my fourth and youngest daughter, at the age of 17, left my home to go and live full time with her mother.

I have lived with at least one child (and at times, with four) for the last 30 years, mostly full time, sometimes part time.

Suddenly, there was no one there.

I know something about empty next syndrome. My mother took her own life shortly after her youngest child ( my younger brother) left the family home at the age of 18. There were many other factors involved, and suicide is always a mystery. But having no one to look after for a woman of her generation, who had been brought up to believe child rearing was her primary role, it must have been a considerable blow.

I am not my mother. But I was unprepared for the level of pain that this final absence delivered. I have not felt that sort of grief for many years.

Of course, it was inevitable. And I am 68, way beyond the age most parents still have dependent children. I have no complaints about her decision. It was absolutely the right one for her.

But what a shock. I didn’t understand how much I had invested in my role as a parent. I am not always the most involved or attentive father, so wrapped up am I in my writing. If I thought about it at all, which I didn’t, I assumed that not having a child in the house wouldn’t be a huge issue.

I was wrong.