The house is strangely quiet. This is not unusual, because this past summer, our youngest daughter Isa hadn’t even been around much before leaving for college last week. She was either at her boyfriend’s house, getting Boba with friends, or working long hours at a local doggy daycare.
I’ve been watching Isa disengage from us for a while now—sometimes we wouldn’t even see her for an entire day or two. But we knew she was always close by, and we enjoyed that sense of anticipation of seeing her walk in through the front door, her arms often laden with bags of clothes she’d meticulously thrifted from Good Will.
“Fashion show! Fashion show!” we’d chant, carrying on a tradition that we had with the three older girls who, after shopping for new school clothes would try on their outfits and strut around the living room to our enthusiastic oohs and aahs. Luckily for my budget, Isa rarely buys anything brand new, and has the uncanny ability to find those rare designer treasures hidden deep within the thrift store racks. If she was in the mood, she’d model for us the crop sweaters, trendy jeans, and cute Brandi Melville skirts she’d picked up for a song.
Last Friday, we packed up the van with entirely too many cardboard boxes and drove the 150 miles down to UC Irvine. We spent the day helping her organize/decorate her dorm room (actually her older sister, Nora did most of that.) We met her delightful roommate, and after an exhausting and emotional day, finally said our goodbyes.
Her dad and I didn’t really cry until the next day, when it fully hit us that our baby girl was gone. We know that she’s only a car ride away and that we’ll see her soon. But we also know that nothing will ever be exactly the same again, and that’s the really hard part. Isa has launched. And so must we.
My husband and I are currently faced with a sense of now what? While we’ve been intently raising children together for the past 34 years, we’ve put aside many of our own wants and needs to take care of the wants and needs of our kids. Now, after all this time, we have to figure out what it is we actually want.
Scary, right?
I realize I’ll never have a completely empty nest, and I don’t really want one. I consider myself fortunate that my daughters are emotionally tethered to each other and to our family. But it’s time to start putting myself first. What a concept.
Wish me luck, as I think this may be one of the most difficult tasks I’ve ever had to face in my life.
What the hell DO I want?
When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.
She’s an Anteater now!
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