Two weeks ago, I wrote about empty nests and received responses from people of various ages. There was a lady more than a decade younger than me who wrote about her fear over the empty nest she faced. I wrote that column to make people aware that empty nests do exist and they’re inevitable. We must prepare. To be honest, I thought I was ready but experientially, nobody truly is. There are times when you feel all alone and you wonder what you might have done differently. The good news is: These times come and go.
A man wrote, "I guess all parents have the same feeling. There was a time when we could hug and kiss our children whenever and wherever, but as they grow older, they find a new set of friends and they do not find our conversation with them interesting anymore. It is as if we are watching them swim. We notice them swimming faster, farther away from us until we begin to feel mixed emotions of success and loneliness as we watch them move towards deeper water – until we can see them no more. And then, after some time, like homing pigeons, they fly back, when they become old enough and have children of their own or when they have family problems, they come back fully aware of what we have done for them." That was beautifully stated, I thought. Yes, precisely, our children grow up and fly away, but in time they return. They have to take care of us in our old age, whether they want to or not, whether we want them to or not. The empty nest is just one step in life’s process.
Then a lady who is around my age wrote to say she lived with her husband and children, but also felt like she was alone when she was sick: "It seems I am leading a life of a ‘married single’ person. I think having an appearance of ‘capability’ makes other family members assume that you are superwoman who doesn’t need help. The only merciful thing is that the feeling of helplessness passes, albeit very slowly and gradually. That is why I dread getting sick." Her whole point with me was accurate. You only feel lonely in your empty nest when you are sick. That is the truth. I am particularly miserable when I have the flu and yet, I wonder, what would I do with a child around me? I simply sleep through all my illnesses, from stroke to flu.
They all took me to task for wishing for death. Let me take this occasion to write about it then. From birth, I have had to confront death. First, my father, grandfather, and uncle died all together during the war on the eve of Liberation Day. I was six months old. Their death meant something to me, means something to me still. I never knew them, but I sense still their presence in my life. Then I’ve had to face the death of two of my dearest grandmothers, two surrogate fathers, a first cousin, a series of friends. Nevertheless, in spite of their physical absence, I still feel their presence. For me, death is not the morbid thing you all think it is. It isn’t final, not a wall, not the end of all life, not good-bye. It’s just a move on to the next step without all the nuisances of life in the here and now. It isn’t bad, not evil, so I don’t understand why when I say "death" flippantly, I upset everybody. To me, it’s just the next great leap into the void to see what happens. That’s all. Don’t panic. I’m not being morbid.
So, to the people who wrote to scold saying, "After reading your Empty Nest article, we felt so bad for you. We could not understand how come you have been, like, abandoned by your children. While you may have driven them out of your life, wouldn’t they even care to check on you?" No, please, you misunderstand. My children have not abandoned me, but they live their own happy lives where I don’t have a starring role. That’s the way it should be. I was only feeling the empty nest because I was getting a bad case of the flu and I had to write my column anyway. So, please do not judge my children or me. The letter goes on, "And you also want to die. Perhaps we can understand since you feel so alone and miserable. But we think it’s really not a nice subject to talk or read about, especially in a national paper." Oh, I am so sorry. I meant to be flippant about death and did not expect to be taken so seriously. "I agree that giving freedom to your children to live life on their own is the greatest gift. But maybe you gave them so much freedom that they never looked back for you." Of course they look back. They just did not know I was sick. I chose not to tell them. Okay? Anyway, the best letter came from a young man who claimed he was named after the Greek god of death. Then he cracked a lot of funny jokes and made me laugh. That made me feel less sick.
Well, ladies and gentlemen, I am well now. I still live in my empty nest, but it is largely a happy empty nest except when I have the flu. I am deeply grateful to all of you for writing. I teach my students that when you write, you may write from a purely personal point of view, but everything you write must have a universal truth, something that touches people out there. Your response to Empty Nests proved that I touched you out there, even the one who responded so negatively. Thank you very much.