The Path to an Empty Nest

An hour ago she was here, packing her prized possessions into boxes and taking them out to the pickup truck.My little girl, now, is gone. Off to face the world, like a lion tamer entering the lion’s den. At only 19 years old, she left home the same way she came in, knowing exactly who she was and what she wanted.

I should be excited and proud of a job well done raising such an idealistic young woman. And I am, I guess. Mostly, however, I just feel like her old room – empty.

I received some chastising over the anticipation of this day. Those around me don’t understand how I can feel the “empty nest” syndrome when my 21-year-old son and girlfriend have just moved back home, and my 2-year-old daughter will be taking over where her big sister left off.

Soon that room will be bustling again with a young girl singing and dancing, racing her way toward womanhood and independence.

 

But it won’t be Peter.

 

“P” has left the building.

 

And with her, a big piece of my heart.

As I stand at the doorway staring at the abandoned space, I remember my little girl who loved to pose for the camera. Her feet facing me, knees and hips turned slightly to the left and her head aimed up and to the right. She was headed for stardom and she owned it.

I remember the hard middle school years as my Katelyn became Peter. Like many of that age, hormonal changes began to make her feel as though she didn’t know who she was. She tried on a few “labels,” including Peter.

My heart broke then and I felt as though I was mourning the loss of my daughter. Enraged at my behavior, it was she who set me straight. She made it clear she was the same person and her journey did not change that. It wasn’t me who had to live day in and day out in her skin, it was her, and she had the right and duty to be her true authentic self.

I knew who she was, even if she didn’t, but I realized then and there, this was a journey she had to take. I needed to be her support, that’s what she needed from me.

Singing has always been her passion. She started singing before she could even talk. In every school concert, she was always in the front row, thanks to her shorter stature, which she took full advantage of. At the end of every song, there was a curtsy or a bow from my little ham-bone. Everyone knew she was destined for the stage.As she grew, the acting bug grabbed her heart and held on with a mighty fist. During her first musical theater performance, I watched as my then 14-year-old daughter lit up like nothing else. After the final bows of the night, she flew off the stage, ran over the seats and jumped in my arms. She was in love and I knew it.

A year later, a new love came along. This time in the form of a young man. A conservative young man at that. It was not lost on me the philosophical differences between the two. I knew it wouldn’t last. 

I was wrong.

Now, three and a half years later, she has left home to start a new life with that same young man who will be my son-in-law. They have found a way to make their differences work and have begun their journey into a brave new world.

 

And I am left here staring into a dark, empty room.