My nest is not empty; it’s just roomier.
It is back to its original cast of characters…my husband and me, and I am still quite fond of us, as I was when we originally feathered our nest.
And even if circumstances were different, and I was the only one here in this nest, it still would not be empty. I would still be here. In a family, in a home, in a world, every person counts.
My nest is not empty. It is filled with memories.
Memories of family pizza and movie nights in our living room.
Memories of my girls whizzing around on scooters and sliding down the stairs in their inflatable Hello Kitty sleeping bag.
Memories of birthday and holiday dinners in the dining room.
Memories of conversations on beds in my children’s rooms.
Memories of ordinary dinners at the kitchen table, made extraordinary because we were all there.
Memories of laughter and tears and anger and heartbreak and heart healing and messiness and forgiveness and celebration.
My nest is not empty; it’s just roomier—and there is something to be said for the extra space. My husband and I finally have room on the shoe rack by the door for our own shoes and in the cupboard for our own water bottles. The Christmas decorations in the attic no longer vie for square footage with bins of “for a future apartment” paraphernalia.
My nest is not empty; it’s just roomier. It is ready and welcoming for when my birdies land for a night or a weekend or longer.
My nest is not empty. It is filled with hope.
Hope for new memories to be made, new life to be lived, new love to be chosen and felt.
