Empty nester - another kind of grief

I’ve been learning about grief these last few years. I know its shape, its weight, and its tendency to ambush you in the most ordinary moments—like finding my name written by DT on an old Christmas card.

But what I didn’t realize until recently is that my grief isn’t just for DT; it’s also for the life we had and the complete silence of the house during the holidays. It’s another powerful, layer of sadness.

It feels strange to admit this, but watching our children move out, find their way, and start their own lives feels like another profound loss. I celebrate their independence and I’m fiercely proud of them! But I mourn the daily the closeness we had.

Now, as the holidays approach, the quiet, emptiness of our home is overwhelming. This house used to be filled with life from Thanksgiving until New Year’s. I miss the simple, beautiful chaos.Hearing the grandkids tumble in, shedding their coats, and immediately taking over the living room. The constant noise of cooking, the fridge opening and closing a hundred times, and the overlapping conversations from every corner. The mismatched shoes by the front door, the extra blankets and pillows piled up. I miss all of it!

It was exhausting, but it was a good exhaustion. It was the feeling of being necessary, surrounded by love, and home.

Now, the silence isn’t peaceful; it feels hollow. It’s the constant, subtle reminder that the era of having my kids and grandkids perpetually under my roof for the holidays is over. That vibrant, noisy chapter closed, and DT isn’t ever going to be apart of this new life.

My children and grandchildren text and call, and those connections are vital. But I still carry the ache of missing the physical proximity and the joy of having my entire tribe within arm’s reach on Christmas morning.

I realize that being an empty nester is not just a stage of life; it’s a part of my continuing grief. And this year, I’m trying to be more gentle with myself and acknowledge my feelings.