Empty Nest

You know the term "empty nester"? Being one for the first time, I find that it irks me. Yes, the little fledgling birdie flew the coop and has left her parent's nest for the great, wide world of New York City. And yes, the parents must now stare at each other, no longer having the diversion of feeding the young, no longer having to fend for their baby, no longer having to worry on a minute-by-minute basis about protecting them. As parents whose gaze has been deflected downward more than at each other for years, this is new territory. Fact is, humans live in homes; we do not nest, per se. After eighteen years of disacquaintance, the relationship sacrifice of focusing on their progeny instead of upon themselves, we feel almost shy. The home devoid of a child, of the shuttling back and forth, of the eternal snipings, the small, daily irritations seems strange. Here is the time when the nurturing gives way to the success of inevitable separation. The house is now occupied by two middle-aged people who are together as they were what seems like a lifetime before, still together, bound by the experience and love of raising a child. We are weathered and tethered, together, "till death do us part." Together. We have 'lost a child and gained an adult' psycho-coaches euphemize. We look not backwards at an empty nest, but forward, to all the rest. The truth is that the windshield is much broader than the rearview mirror as we drive ahead.