Parents across the country have begun the painful process of sending their children to college for the first time.
No amount of psychological preparation prepares you for the silence that descends on a house after your children have left.
I say this because we suddenly became empty nesters last November when both sons left home within five weeks of each other.
The teenage boy’s movements were expected. But saying goodbye to our eldest came out of the blue, following a job offer that required us to move to the Midlands.
This double whammy meant that after 22 years of dirt, smells and chaos, a crater appeared in our lives.
Marianne and her eldest son in London Euston as he leaves for a new life further north
After dropping the teenager off at his dorm with a single duvet and a six-pack of lager, we cried quietly all the way back from Warwick. No backward glance from him, I hasten to add.
The tissues came out again the following month when his older brother, who had barely spent a night with us, also packed his suitcase.
After seeing him off at London Euston with a stiff smile that masked our heartbreak, we returned to the same house, but to a different house; one that felt like the wrong fit, enveloped in a silence so overwhelming that I wrapped my arms around the cockapoo and sobbed.
My husband was even worse. Looking at old footballs in the yard would bring tears to his eyes and say wistfully, “It feels like yesterday” when he saw their toddler photos or drove past their elementary school.
I must confess that I gave in to my melancholy by lying on their bed and smelling the fading scents of Armpit, Pot Noodle and Lynx.
This was it. We had crashed without helmets into our empty nest, that bed of sorrow that every parent fears from the moment we see our newborn (let’s skip the teenage years).
There are websites devoted to it, self-help books with dramatic titles like Healing the Empty Nester’s Grieving Heart, psychologists explaining how to deal with everything from feelings of loss to lack of purpose.
Earlier this year, Gwyneth Paltrow told James Corden on The Late Late Show that just the thought of her half-grown children leaving home made her feel “not so good… I wish I could freeze time.”
My thoughts too. But surprisingly, our mourning period ended a few weeks after the double departure, with washed underpants, wet towels rescued from random floors and some socks reunited with missing halves, with an almost indecent haste.
On a dark Tuesday in November, the realization dawned that there was more fun ahead. My husband said the Bill Nighy movie I wanted to see was in theaters.
So we went to our local Thai restaurant for dinner and then watched the movie (aptly called Living), with a plastic glass of wine in hand. Hardly wild stuff, but it was spontaneous, joyful and liberating.
Giddy on gavi, I exclaimed that we could do this every night if we wanted, before my other half added up the bill.
It didn’t matter because little things started to feel good. The laundry basket was no longer overflowing with jeans. I no longer tripped over giant sneakers. There was milk in the refrigerator.
The meals no longer resembled a UN meeting, with compromises on curry and deals on broccoli.
Leaving the house, 60s style: actor Terence Stamp with his mother Ethel. She helps him pack for Spain
Last week I made a spicy mackerel rice dish that we knew the boys would hate, so we took a photo of it and posted it on the family WhatsApp group. Seconds later, one sent a vomit emoji, the other responded with the word “Grim” and we all laughed.
Unlike the empty nesters of old – my poor mother sent me to Spain on the bus in the 80s, not knowing when she would hear from me again – we have semi-permanent contact with the boys.
When Leeds United play there is an extensive WhatsApp discussion that I ignore. We still watched The Apprentice ‘virtually’ together, laughing at the corporate folly of the contestants.
I regularly ask the youngest when he last washed his duvet, while he lounges on his student bed during our FaceTime conversations.
Life as a free bird – a term I’ve adopted as a happier alternative to empty nester – is pretty good. It also depends on one important thing. If you suddenly find yourself alone with a partner, it helps if you like him or her.
It’s no surprise that divorce rates are significantly higher among empty nesters, the so-called silver splitters. With the average life expectancy now in the 80s, this means you spend a lot of time staring at someone while having a pint, while not having much to say.
WE ARE BUSY PLANNING OUR FIRST OFF-SEASON BREAK IN DECADES
But if you still regularly laugh with and at each other, this newfound independence will be liberating.
There are the small victories: clearing out video games and textbooks. Ditto taking back control of the television, reclaiming cupboard space and finding the beer you bought still in the fridge.
And then there are the big ones: the fortune saved on heating bills and the fact that you don’t have to micromanage every minute to fit within deadlines.
The past 18 months have been tough enough for me, without adding empty nester to the list. I have overcome illness, left a job I loved, and witnessed my beautiful mother suffer from dementia that left her unable to walk or talk.
Last winter, the reality that three of the people I love most in the world were suddenly there, but not there, was heartbreaking.
But for the boys at least, our new phase of family life has been unexpectedly rewarding. Both return home regularly. When they returned last Christmas, it was a cause for excitement and celebration rather than stress and petty arguments.
The house was once again a riot of noise and mickey-taking as my six-foot-tall pups rolled around in the comfort of their familiar world, and we basked in their newfound independence and semi-adulthood.
They held their beloved grandmother’s hand during a visit to the nursing home where we recently reluctantly placed my mother, and her smile when she saw them was pure gold.
When they left, our melancholy did not return. Instead, we’ve been busy planning our first off-season vacation in decades.
A cheap and cheerful dose of winter sun involving two people, one room and no time limits. All paid for with the money we saved by not having to feed two massive famines.
It is our 25th wedding anniversary this year and we are considering a return to Tuscany and Rome, where we spent our honeymoon.
When we told the boys this, they began to show a worrying interest in coming along.
So we’ve learned one of the universal lessons of being an empty nester: your big girls always come back, as long as you pay…
- Marianne Jones is the co-host of Been There Done That Got the Podcast