by Dana Wineland O’Rouke, contributing writer
“Honey, wake up and come to bed.” My husband Tim whispered as he tapped my shoulder.
“I’m waiting up for Danny,” I mumbled, as I repositioned myself on the couch. “He’s not home yet.”
“Danny’s at school, Dana. He’s not coming home.”
I sat up as the reality of our newly empty nest hit this mamma bird hard. We climbed up the stairs, passed the two closed bedroom doors, entered our bedroom, and buried ourselves beneath the blanket. The word home echoed in my head as I struggled to fall back asleep.
That summer had been a whirlwind. Once graduation parties stopped, and the family beach vacation ended, we prepared to send both of our sons off to college.
Perhaps it was good we were so busy. It kept me from thinking about our freshman “baby” going two hundred minutes away.
Tim Jr. would only be sixty minutes away and entering his senior year. He already experienced my mom tutorial on laundry, basic medications/first aid, and the summarization of every word of advice I’d given him since birth. We all mastered packing by that fourth year, and my husband and I being in our forties was a bonus as we helped lug stuff to his third-floor dorm room. If you’ve ever seen the “pivot” episode of the television show Friends, you can relate to our eldest’s insistence that the couch he brought would fit up the stairwell. He and a few buddies managed the impossible as they paraded the ugliest couch the college had ever seen up three flights in front of a bottleneck of clothes, crate, and box-carrying parents and undergrads.
His dad’s parting words were always the same as he hugged his namesake goodbye, “Do you have everything?” I’m proud of you.” “Don’t be stupid.” “I love you.”
We had a few days to recover and then it was Danny’s turn. Our van was packed as if Jenga champions had done it. His girlfriend Lauren joined us for the trip. The dorm was on the fourth floor, and like his brother’s, there was no elevator. Exhaustion and excitement kept the tears away until it was time to say farewell. By then Danny had gotten the same induction we gave his brother, including dad’s parting words. His big brother had also shared words of wisdom, and his girlfriend left him with extra hugs.
Three days later, I fell asleep on the couch waiting up for him.
It was just the two of us in the house now. After years of bottles, books, and balls, it was quiet. There were no shoes in the entryway, no sports drinks on the counter, and no music playing. I kept their bedroom doors shut. Not even the curiosity of them leaving something important behind, or the possibility of a moldy ant-covered donut on a nightstand was enough to get me to open a door and not see them plopped on their bed.
When we first moved into this house, they each got their own bedroom after sharing one for twelve years. They’d tap on the adjoining wall at night. A mother never forgets things like that.
I needed to get out of our quiet house, so I headed to the grocery store, certain we were out of something to make it a necessary trip. A stroll down the produce aisle left my cart empty. There along the back wall stood what would put a lump in my throat. The milk cooler.
I opened the door as I had done hundreds of times and reached for a gallon of milk. But, before my hand gripped the handle, I closed the door, opened the one beside it, selected a half-gallon of 2% milk, and placed it in the cart. Aargh, it did not feel or look right, A measly half-gallon after years of threatening to buy a cow to keep us in milk. It sat in the cart like a neon sign that flashed “No kids at home.” I headed straight for the candy aisle. A big bag of peanut M&Ms lying beside it would surely help. It did. And the lump in my throat never turned into tears. I felt too much love, pride, and hope in those sons of ours who were on their journeys; getting college educations, and life experiences, to help accomplish their dreams.
That half-gallon of milk expired in September of 2001, nearly twenty-three years ago.
Both boys completed their bachelor’s degrees and went on to receive their master’s degrees. Danny added his doctorate, married Lauren, and they have two children, Tim met his wife Kelli in his college town. They are busy raising their four children: with the oldest entering her senior year of college.
To say time flies is an understatement.
My husband and I begin each season of life the way we have always done, together. Having someone to lean on is a blessing. We look back with pleasure, live in harmony, and look ahead with joy.
Being a parent is both the hardest and easiest “job” in the world for the same reason; we love our children beyond measure. I’ve gathered knowledge along life’s way but will never have all the answers. My best advice is to build a solid nest when you marry and make it sturdier the moment you decide to bring a child into the world. Provide them with good roots for a secure foundation, and magnificent wings so they can soar. Continue to make your nest stronger after they’ve flown away to fulfill their destiny because you’ll need a hearty nest for when they bring their loves and littles home.
Millions are sending their babies off to college this summer and will no doubt feel the pangs that come with an empty nest. Help reassure them that they will always be a parent, just in a much different way.
There’s no use crying over spilled, or a half-gallon of expired, milk.
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About the author: Freelance writer Dana Wineland O’Rourke retired after wearing the many hats required for her position as a school secretary for 30 years. A lifelong resident of Monongahela, Dana has been married to Tim for 45 years. Their two sons and daughters-in-law made the family an even dozen with six grandchildren. She enjoys spending time with family, traveling, gab & grubs with friends, biking, and fitness classes at the YMCA.
