Molting vs. empty nesting

“I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.”
― Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

I threw my favorite dress away last night. It felt a bit disrespectful to leave it lying helplessly in the kitchen trash, its brown field and white polka dots crumpled next to the empty packaging of mini cucumbers.

Perhaps I should have buried it.

But, in the trash it went. Lest it wind up in the stack of worn clothing I keep for sewing scraps or, worse, in the basket of rags we store in the basement. The tissue thin fabric — worn with joy for more than 15 summers but now shredded at the neck — was beyond repair or usefulness.

In a newfound spirit of moving on, I simply closed the lid and went back to the living room, where my husband and I planned to watch a movie. It was just a dress. It wasn’t that big of a deal.

That’s me. Today. A year ago, shedding that dress would likely have brought me to tears.

One Sunday last August, in fact — the very day after I dropped our youngest off to a college dorm room in another city — such were suddenly and uncontrollably rolling down my face at a church picnic of all places. Seasoned mothers rushed to my aid. “You’ll get used to it,” they said of our freshly empty nest. “You’ll be surprised. You’ll love it when they come home but you’ll find it so disruptive you’ll be ready when they leave again.”

I didn’t believe them. But, they were right, as mothers generally are. The change from a house full of people to just my husband, our English bull terrier and I was shocking and dismaying. Until, sometime this early summer when I suddenly realized it wasn’t.

I knew this when I found myself taking pictures of our daughters’ bedrooms — tidied, cleaned and freshened up with new quilts and pillows. The spaces looked better than they had since the day we moved in.

I like this look enough to leave their doors open 24/7 when their rooms are empty and to take a quick glance at these photos — stored on my phone — as a point of calm comparison for when they are visiting. Yes, visiting. They are always welcome but both now have nicely-kept apartments and roommates and, in one case, a darling cat. (I am a cat granny. I have considered getting a T-shirt to proclaim this.)

Other delightful changes have included a guilt-free vacation for just two and other tweaks as mundane as rearranging cabinets in the kitchen in a way that was obviously better but had never before occurred to me. Our youngest was recently annoyed when she couldn’t find the pots and pans.

She fussed. I smiled to myself. Our daughters are not the only ones who are changing and moving into new adventures — if moving one’s skillets can be called an adventure. (I’ve also replaced my drive-thru iced coffee in a plastic cup with a macchiato served in real china. It’s at this little place that also has the most wonderful baguette sandwiches whose cheese requires lactase tablets. Mom’s clearly gone wild.)

I now like to think of this new season as molting — simply a shedding of old feathers or old skin for new with the life inside marvelously intact. It continues the empty nest metaphor — which is becoming replaced with the term “free bird” in some circles. Or, in time, as the case more likely is.

The demise of my dress was also an unmistakable visual. It made me happy for a very long time. But, it’s season came to an end. And there is a space left behind.

Space, as it turns out, isn’t a bad thing. It’s a good thing. A God thing, I suspect.

So, be assured, you moms who are sending off the last one or the only one to wherever their launch might take them. By the grace of God, you will be okay and so will they. And, a while from now, you might feel your own freshly-feathered wings starting to flap.

You, fly, girl.