It's Time to Let Go

​



​
​Ella leaves for college in a few days. My out-of-town travels will now be contained to opposite ends of the ever-lovely and never-crowded Interstate 75, from Atlanta to Orlando.
 
At Ella’s college orientation last month, an overzealous student worker manning the registration room thought he was safe to remind me that it is time to let go. Someone should have warned him not to say that to me. No worries - he lives.
 
Let go? Absolutely not! I don’t want to let go of kids constantly running through the house. Why must I let go of banter at the table, doors opening and shutting, and panicked calls for cash? How do I let go of the constant planning, going, laughing, yelling, and movement that kids bring to a home?
 
Bob seems fine but I know he dreads this as much as I do. Someone asked me if I still like my husband enough now that it will be ONLY the two of us. As long as Bob doesn’t tell me that it is time to let go, he should be ok.
 
Ella informs me that I am suffering from the beginning stages of empty nest syndrome. She explained that an empty nest implies that, yes, my home is now a vacant place from which the little babies have flown. Am I ready to let go?
 
Absolutely not!
It’s going to happen anyway.
 
This empty nest label lingers. It’s almost as depressing as the reality it describes. Did I really work this hard for so long to raise these kids only to discover that they left me with a barren birdhouse? A deserted den? I know that there must be a reasonably eloquent turn of phrase to posit here. Should home now become an aerie asylum? A completed cradle? A territory of tedious boredom I must endure until Ella returns for a visit?
 
I do not know how to drive away on move-in day. In searching my soul to find an antidote to this syndrome, I amped up my prayer life. God reminds me that He is my helper, but He is also Ella’s helper. He will never leave her or forsake her. He is my strength and refuge. He is also her strength and her refuge. I can let go and let God. 
 
It turns out that the antidote to my syndrome is reminding myself that this empty house is still a rich refuge. My kids and their families can return home to our sanctuary from the wilderness of growing up and growing wiser. Our God is good, and my home is a place filled with His love, free laundry, and Bob’s good cooking.
 
My mission this summer was to reimagine this gut-wrenching rite of passage and pose it in a positive light. I plan to have a lot of fun in the coming years, and I do not want a depressing expression tagging my life. There is a lovely phase of life between this and the nursing home, and I intend to live it up.
 
Bob and I will now enjoy the honeymoon we never had a chance to experience. When we met, Dallas and Elise were four, so our relationship began with children in the house. Ella completed everything for us. It’s been twenty-three years of being together never not raising kids.
 
To sum it all up, I want to thank famed social scientist Brené Brown. I now understand that I might be moving from one kind of wilderness towards another. It’s been crazy exhausting and incredibly beautiful at the Arnold home for all these years. It’s been wild and full of all kinds of critters (thanks Dallas) as well as drama and fashion (thanks girls).
 
In her book, Braving the Wilderness, Brown bases her insights on a quote by Maya Angelou. “You are only free when you realize you belong no place- you belong every place- no place at all. The price is high. The reward is great.”
 
Ella, you must learn to brave your own wilderness.
Ella, you must learn to belong to yourself.
Ella, you will soon figure out that this home is an antidote to everything.
 
Just call first.
Let the honeymoon begin!

---