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| -Image by Copilot |
There are in fact quite a few empty chairs around our dinner table of late. Youngest son has gone to work in Queensland. Two of the older granddaughters have just gone to Melbourne to study.
We knew this was going to happen. My daughter was looking forward to less squabbles about whose turn it was to take out the recycling or stack the dishwasher, less noise, a bit of space in the bathroom and less chauffeuring. But the house is so quiet. There’s not much excited chatter around the dinner table, no one needing a costume for tomorrow, no music blaring from bedrooms. Freedom is a strange thing.
I felt the same when my daughter left for college, when my oldest son moved in with his girlfriend and when my big sister left for work in New Guinea. I wonder how the youngest granddaughter is taking it? An only child at last. No more nagging and bullying by big sisters, and yet...Who is there to play cards with or watch a silly movie? She won't be far behind.
Of course, as a parent you celebrate those milestones - they are in fact signs of success, and you keep your fingers crossed as they enter this new exciting chapter of their lives and move towards independence. This is not about being maudlin, but about acknowledging the small turning points, the tiny ruptures in the fabric of the universe which change the dynamics of family life forever.
The kaleidoscope turns. You know that the departees will come back as different people and form new constellations. I expect it’s the same when a close friend gets married or gains a partner. You are no longer No 1 in their universe and all others must adjust accordingly, like succession to the throne when a royal sibling gets a new baby brother or sister.
We hear about empty nests and empty rooms where memories echo -the moment when couples suddenly find themselves alone and realise how little they have in common except for the children they have raised and who have now left. People cope in different ways with the void left behind. Some travel. Some -usually men, get the motorbike they always wanted or have an affair with their secretary. Women get more assertive and dust off old dreams and ambitions which may have been put on hold while raising children, but no one tells you about the little deaths – the break up of established clusters and patterns. yes at Christmas and family celebrations there' ll be a coming together again, but you know it will never be the same.
My Own Existential Crisis
Meanwhile, I am going through a transition of my own. I haven’t been able to walk very well lately. This is a shame because walking was my superpower, whether it was over the mountains or away from difficulties. I have developed a blood clot in my leg which shows no sign of going away, so I am going to be looking for a new house - much as I love this one, because the stairs are likely to become a a liability. So while I am having a little sook about that I have also been getting rid of lots of things in anticipation.
There are practical things I need to think about – will I ever need an extendable Ikea table for 6 -8 if I am living in a tiny box? That seems to be about all that's on offer. One place wouldn't have even fitted my bed in its master bedroom. Will I have room for the big bookcase or the Huon Pine dresser which had pride of place in the tea room I used to have?
It’s not just the practical side though. It’s the emotional baggage that comes with it. I’ve had to let go of a lot of illusions about the things I was going to do, should have done and might have done, has not this or that gotten in the way or been rudely interrupted by daily life.
There are the things I had planned to do with the girls – soap -making, candle -making and board games. Rag Rug Weaving was never quite the success I hoped it would be. I just sold the beer brewing kit and my beehive – it’s unlikely I’ll have room in my life for those. Each thing I get rid of is a mixture of relief and abandoned hope. The things I have left seem like a reproach – failing to make use of something and denying someone else the use of it in the meantime. I have also learned that electronics, no matter how expensive and unused, just get old. I’m hoping a hobbyist or the repair café will have a use for all those mystery leads and transformers.
Desuetude Awaits
I am also constantly battling that unwritten Tasmanian injunction against ever throwing away anything potentially useful. You just never know when you might need it. Of course, even if you ever do, you have no chance of finding it, and if by chance you do - Granddad was so organised that he actually could, it will have deteriorated so much that you still need to buy a new one. Usually needing it only happens the day after you have given it away anyway, just like the baby bath. I have tried to find good homes for most things and will shortly have a big freebee table outside for the the rest.
One of my friends watching this process with a mixture of awe and disbelief remarked,” How many things do you have to sell for $10 before you can afford a tip run?” That isn’t the point though. It’s about less land fill and not having to dump much at all, much less having to pay to store and move it around. hardly anyone here has attics or basements. In the newer places you are lucky to get a parking space much less a garage or shed. The really hard part is yet to come – kids’ drawings, favourite books and about 20 years’ worth of notes and memories. Hard to believe all that stuff ever fitted into the cupboards.
The process hasn’t been without its lighter moments. While I was removing the couch cushions I came across assorted treasures – a friendship bracelet, youngest granddaughter’s unicorn pendant which she lost many years ago, around $20 in loose change, two biros, one pencil and a paintbrush and a historic assortment of lolly wrappers.
Go well girls! Go knock 'em dead in Melbourne!
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