I’ve always heard it said “Don’t blink.” The purple carpet lie bare. Purple because that’s what she chose when she was a young girl, just “yesterday.” The curtains hang silent, lifeless. The green, gray and black walls empty with just a few nails remaining. Silence filling my ears. Still. Very still. The bed is gone, her clothes, her art, her sweet smell, her very presence, gone.
This is number four to leave home and it does not get easier. Why does it hit so hard every time even when I see it coming? I will never get use to it as some tell me. I will never like it or long for it. The empty nest has no appeal to me. I prefer a full one, thank you very much. The presence of my offspring brings me joy. I gave my life for my children and that is exactly what I wanted to do, what I still want to do. I would do this momma thing all over again.
But for now the quietness is haunting. Momma and sister weep. We try to hide our tears but the loss is too great. This part of our lives finished. We knew it was coming but deep down hoping for a few more days. It’s time to cut strings, let go, say goodbye to what was and start our new normal.
A wonderful young man has captured her heart. She flies away to enter this great big world. But she is my baby girl. The one who was just two when we moved in. Who was small enough to fit in a book case, in a red wagon and in my arms so tightly.
We will miss . . .
her happy “pile” (smile) each day
her unique, after 9pm laughter with her sister (cackling)
her encouraging words to us
her Monday night chef duty (Oh God, I have to cook again)
her happy heart
her very presence
her gentle and quiet spirit (everyone seems quiet compared to me)
her sweet smell
her unconditional love
. . . all of her, every last drop of her.
We love you,
Momma and Sister