Tags
Empy nest syndrome; mourning dove; saying goodbye to adult children; mother of the bride, home, how to cook pot roast, ivory lace, motherhood, women's devotional, Women's stories
Sometimes being stuck smack in the middle of a metaphor is the last place you want to be.
It was Memorial Day five years ago when she saw the bird. Her daughter’s wedding day.
She was on a ladder wiring peonies into the backyard arbor when their eyes met – one pair black and beady, the other blue and slightly bloodshot. Protecting her nest, the mother bird stayed. Preparing to empty hers, the mother of the bride held her gaze, said wryly – maybe out loud – “You and I have something in common, you know.”
Hours later, a photographer captured the moment when the young couple stepped through the arbor into their future together – brunette bride frosted in ivory lace, blond groom beaming in dark tux. When family photos were taken, the bride’s mother insisted that the bird be included.
She’s been thinking about Mama Dove a lot in recent weeks. 48 hours ago, her youngest child crammed the last box into his car. Fame and fortune do not interest him. Her son has never sought the limelight and would happily give away whatever he owns. He often has. But his future lies to the west, at least for now, and in the manner of legions of young men and women before him, he is going.
And she and his father remain. As it should be. Nests are not meant to nurture the young forever. Birds are born to fly. So reasonable, logical, common-sensical.
But a mother’s heart has its own reason.
Stay here longer, she says, sometimes even out loud. Till you have a bigger nest egg. Till you get married. Until I am ready to let you go.
But her youngest child knows that day will not come. Calmly, he disentangles himself, says “Mom, it’s time. I’ll be fine.”
Of course you will, she thinks. It’s your mama who’s not. What if I forgot to tell you something, like the meaning of life or how to cook pot-roast? How will you know which store has the best sales on underwear? Who will program the wretched remote control for me?
But it’s time.
She presses a little extra money into his pocket. She puts snacks sealed in zipper bags into his car. Food is something a mother knows how to keep safe. She brings the cat out to say goodbye, then the dog.
“They don’t want you to go!” she cries, but the car is already backing down the driveway. He lifts his hand, and he’s gone.
Foolish woman, she thinks, blinking hard. Ungrateful mother. What did you think, that they were supposed to stay with you forever? Never leave home, never move into the future God has for each one?
It’s what we raise them for – independence. It’s what we want them to do – fly. We have Skype, for heaven’s sake. Facebook. Instant-messaging. Texting. Our grown children are as close as the tiny screens in our hands.
And as far away as the distance measured by our hearts.
Then she remembers the week after her daughter’s wedding five years ago. She had climbed the ladder to commiserate with her kindred spirit, the mourning dove. But the nest was empty. The babies were gone.
As it should be.
Elaine Sohlo said:
Oh, Maggie, we are empty nesters too and have been for many of our 62 years of marriage (anniversary last Sunday) but don’t feel too bad as with all the technology these days we keep in touch and you will too. Say hi to Mom (Eunice) from me.
New Song Music Studios said:
bawling as I read this and think of my oldest so far away in PA. We are going to see him graduate afterall. So happy! When they leave it’s not forever you know. Visiting is still a blessed option. Yay!
maggierowe said:
Joleen! I was excited to read your message just now as your Jon has been much on my mind, and I was wistfully hoping you could see him graduate after all. When do you leave?
Jan de Chambrier said:
Magnificently written, my eloquent CSF, and straight to the heart! I will save this to refer to in the not-too-distant future!
maggierowe said:
Dearest CSF, I was thinking of your Paul also when I wrote it. One child or ten, it’s hard to see them go!
Mom Wallem said:
You certainly know how to bring tears to the eyes….some of us know so well from similar experience.
Stephanie Rische said:
This is beautiful, Maggie. I teared up reading it. Your kids are blessed to have a mama bird like you…and a cozy nest to come home to every once in a while.
maggierowe said:
Steph, your words mean a lot coming from one of my very favorite writers (and people!)
Dick Gove said:
A very touching, heart-warming story … and beautiful pictures too!
maggierowe said:
Dick, thanks so much for reading my musings and commenting. Words are how I process emotion.
Kristen Young said:
Sweet Maggie, Your words touched this young mama’s heart. My eyes brimming with tears… The Lord has given you a great gift for words, words that touch the hearts of so many. God bless!
Pat said:
I always love bird stories! I hear lots of birds singing in our yard but haven’t been able to spot their nests. In fact, we have a bird that sings just outside our bedroom window early in the morning. What a melodious way to start the day. We are empty nesters again since Widups flew back to Vanuatu.
Pat Langley said:
That is so touching and wonderful, Maggie! It meant a lot to me as I have been through the same thing.
Sylvia Jurkowski said:
You beautifully wrote of the mixed feelings we mothers feel. Proud of our children but sad to see them off onto their new adventures. You captured it.. and the bird was very special, too. God bless you, Maggie. I’m waiting for your first book to be published …
Polly Brown said:
Maggie, I found this through Linda Fisher on fb. Love your writing, and this piece touches my heart very deeply as we started letting our children go so very young. And it continues on even into Great-Grandma-hood. They come back to our in-law apt. for visits from the ends of the earth and all corners of this country. God continues to remind me not to spoil what I have, what He graciously gives, by wishing it were more. I am so glad to have found your blog. Wonderful memories of our encounters and your ministry when you and Mike were in New England. We are now in western NY