Copy of Evidence of Life

There were times when our house looked like a crime scene.

Trainers everywhere. Clothes abandoned on floors. Glasses and plates that seemed to migrate mysteriously from the kitchen. Evidence everywhere that other people lived here.

And now, strangely, I'm nostalgic for the evidence.

My youngest has gone to university, and I'm discovering that the reality of an empty nest feels rather different from the version I imagined.

But what I'm noticing most at the moment is what has gone.

I miss the noise.

I miss the banging music when my son was getting ready to go out. I miss the cloud of his aftershave that seemed to arrive before he did. I miss his friends coming back to the house and the little glimpses that gave me into their lives.

They were signs of life.

As the kids got older, there was always a feeling in the background that I might be needed. Not necessarily because anyone actually needed me, but because they might.

Even when I was out, there was often that thought: I suppose I'd better go home. Just in case.

There was something important to me about being there. Not because I always enjoyed being at home — far from it — but because I liked knowing I was there.

Now I don't feel like I'm on standby all the time.

And that's strange.

I don't think I particularly miss being needed. I miss being part of their everyday lives. I miss seeing their friends, hearing snippets of conversations, noticing who they were becoming. I miss being part of that ordinary, messy, noisy family life.

That part of my life has gone now.

And there is sadness in that. But there is excitement too.

I'm excited to see what happens next for my children. To watch them make their own lives, and find their way.

And, if I'm honest, I'm curious about what happens next for me too.

I don't have a clear picture of that yet.

And that's okay.

For now, I'm just a little nostalgic for the evidence. 

Even the trainers.

If you're finding the transition to an empty nest harder than you expected, counselling can offer a space to make sense of what has changed, what you've lost and what might come next.