Zibby Mag

By Dara Kurtz

It’s two months before my youngest daughter leaves for college, before my husband and I become “empty nesters,” and it’s all I can think about.

It’s not that I don’t like my husband; after over 27 years of marriage, I like him a lot. But this is a big change and it’s triggering all sorts of feelings.

After going through breast cancer almost eight years ago, I walked away from my twenty-year career as a financial advisor to focus on my writing and my family. I don’t regret this decision at all. It’s allowed me to be available for school events and meaningful conversations around the kitchen island.

But being a writer can be lonely, especially when the kids aren’t coming in and out of the house. Truth be told, I’ve been a little concerned about all of the alone time. This has been a recent theme with my therapist who, in our last session, asked me how I’m feeling emotionally.

“Let me read you something I wrote this morning in my journal,” I tell her.

I proceed to read her a paragraph about this image in my mind: I’m wearing my robe, walking the clean rooms of my house (I’m actually fine with having a clean house) with tears streaming down my face, feeling lonely and sad and wondering if I made the most out of the time I had with my kids.

“There’s a lot there,” I say after I read it to her. She doesn’t disagree. We dive in, talking through how I’m going to navigate the uncertainty. Clearly, there is job security for her and a lot of drama from me. We both laugh. She reminds me I have the ability to figure it out and that it would serve me well to shift how I’m looking at this change.

I know she’s right, and it helps to talk about it.

This upcoming transition also has me especially missing my mom, who passed away over twenty years ago.

Her death has impacted me in ways I would never have imagined, and it has been one of the greatest challenges of my life. I miss her every day, but I tend to miss her more during special life moments. Taking my youngest daughter to college has me thinking a lot about my mom — what it must have felt like for her to have me far away at college, how she navigated this change. I long to pick up the phone and talk through this with her. I often wonder what words of wisdom she would give me.

Becoming an empty nester is a different form of grief. The life I’ve lived for over twenty years is changing, and I can’t help but feel a sense of loss: the loss of having kids at home, the loss of seeing my daughters every day, the loss of the familiar daily routine.

The day finally arrives and it’s time to take my youngest child to college. We packed and organized, and unpacked and organized some more. We had a lot of fun doing this together, but it doesn’t change the dreaded moment when it’s time to say goodbye. I’m not good at goodbyes: I never have been, and I probably never will be.

After going to a parent/student “farewell” picnic, we return to my daughter’s room to say goodbye. “We need to do this quickly,” I say to my husband. The anticipation is almost too much to handle. I hug my daughter tightly, fighting to keep the tears inside. Finally, pulling away, I walk to the door of her room and wait for my husband to have his turn. I am ready to leave.

That’s when something strange, unexplainable, and incredible happens.

As I stand in the doorway of my daughter’s room, tears streaming down my face, my phone suddenly starts talking like I’ve issued it a command.

“Which Terri would you like to call?” my phone asks the room.

It feels like time stops. We all look at one another in shock. My mom’s name was Terri. I never issue commands to my phone — I don’t even know how. And I don’t have any friends named Terri.

I look down at my phone, and not only are these the words we hear, but the spelling of my mom’s name, “Terri” instead of “Terry,” is written across my phone.

I stop crying immediately as my daughter asks, “What just happened?” I can’t help but wonder, Is this a sign from my mom? It’s as if the universe is shaking me, my mom whispering in my ear, “You’re going to be OK. Everything is going to be OK. Relax.”

We are all stunned, and I stop thinking about the impending goodbye. It’s exactly what I need in this moment — and it’s a reminder to me that my mom walks beside me in this life. I choose to believe this — that she’s never far from my heart — and for me, this feels right. I can’t explain what happened, and it doesn’t matter.

A week goes by and my daughter calls to tell me how happy she is at school. I am thrilled to hear this, and it makes the quiet house feel a little less quiet. Knowing she’s happy changes everything for me.

I’m still getting used to being an empty nester. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but this is OK. I know I will, and I know I’m never alone.

++

Dara Kurtz, after being diagnosed with breast cancer seven years ago at the age of forty-two, left her twenty-year career as a financial advisor to focus on writing, speaking, and podcasting. Today her personal blog Crazy Perfect Life reaches over 200,000 followers. Dara is the author of three books, including her most recent I Am My Mother’s Daughter: Wisdom on Life, Loss, and Love. Dara has been on over 30 podcast, radio, and TV shows. Her goal is to use her life experiences to help people strengthen their relationships and create more happiness and joy in their everyday lives.