It goes on forever
and there is nothing you can do.
My son started college a few weeks ago. I spent the summer wondering about the “empty nest” syndrome and whether I would experience it. Things were looking pretty good until the night before he left, when I suddenly realized: this is the last night my child is living in my house, with me. He will be back, of course — he may even live with me again at some point. But this is the end of that period… also known as childhood… THIS IS THE END OF CHILDHOOD.
It was rough.
Obviously, it wasn’t the end of childhood. I’m still his parent and even though he’s 18, he’s still kind of a kid. But it was definitely THE END OF SOMETHING. I was sad, but more than that I was overwhelmed with nostalgia, all the big feelings about being a parent, wanting his childhood to be magical, wishing I could have changed certain things, grateful for some of the things we did… all the usual. I had the blues.
Then, the solution occurred to me. It was the same solution it always is: humor. I suddenly remembered an essay about empty nest syndrome, written by the late, great writer Nora Ephron.
Nora Ephron, 1975. Photo: Jill Krementz
Nora Ephron (1941-2012) is best known for her screenplays, three of which were nominated for Academy Awards: Silkwood, When Harry Met Sally, and Sleepless in Seattle. She was witty and big-hearted; the kind of valentine that leaves a paper cut. She was funny and wryly philosophical. Of death, she wrote: "Sometimes I think that not having to worry about your hair is the secret upside of death."
So I knew Ephron would have some funny, sharp insights for me about the empty nest. I clearly remembered reading her essay on parenthood at some point in the past… century? (To me, everything since 2000 has just been one long, weird decade). At the time I recall thinking: this is funny, but it’s not at all relevant to my own life (I didn’t have kids yet). You know how this whole time thing works—-suddenly, now, it WAS relevant to me.
I hunted around and finally found the essay: “Parenting in Three Stages.” It was included in her bestselling book, I Feel Bad About My Neck: And Other Thoughts on Being a Woman (Knopf: 2006).
The essay unfolds in three sections. Stage One: The Child is Born. Stage Two: The Child is An Adolescent. I skipped both of those and went straight for the hard stuff: Stage Three: The Child is Gone. I needed somebody—actually, I needed Nora Ephron specifically—to tell me how to embrace this next chapter of my life, to appreciate the newfound freedom, blah blah blah. So I started reading.
“Oh, the drama of the empty nest. The anxiety. The apprehension. What will life be like? Will the two of you have anything to talk about once your children are gone? Will you have sex now that the presence of your children is no longer an excuse for not having sex?”
So far, so good.
She goes on to write about how kids in college come home fairly often, so it might not be as empty as you think. I was happy to read that. But then:
“Eventually college ends, and they’re gone for good.
“The nest is actually empty.
“You’re still a parent, but your parenting days are over.
“Now what? There must be something you can do.”
Dear Reader, I am now going to show you a photograph of the book itself so you can experience this next part in the same way I did. Let me just say that the book designer responsible for this layout knew exactly what they were doing…
“There must be something you can do.”
OK, what?
BUT THERE ISN’T.
Nora Ephron, who was known for her tart one-liners, she who once said, "never marry a man you wouldn't want to be divorced from," the same Nora Ephron had nothing for me: “There is nothing you can do.”
Nothing.
And, by the way:
”It’s over.
“Except for the worrying.
The worrying is forever.”
As I sat on my couch and read that last page of the essay, only then did the ridiculousness of my disappointment become clear to me; I’d searched the used bookstores for a copy of this book, opened the package with such hope and excitement, only to find… nothing. It’s over. And that actually did make me feel better. I’m not saying I laughed out loud… but I felt better. Because it was all true, everything she wrote, from the parts about being proud of your kids to the parts about the inevitability of feeling depressed and pathetic when they leave. Sometimes you just need to hear the truth: it sucks. But life goes on. Just like everything else in life!
And of course we get to keep the worrying. It goes on forever! (yay?)
What I’m not even going to mention here is that my kid chose a college that is, according to Google Maps… 1.2 miles from my house. Yes, I still have empty nest syndrome. And I still worry. But kids grow up and that’s what we want for them. They’re doing what they’re supposed to do; hell, they’re doing what we all do! It’s just so hard to let them go. Even if they’re only 1.2 miles away.
BUT… there is nothing you can do! That, in its own way, is a kind of blessing. You’re not doing it wrong, there’s just nothing to do. Enjoy happy hour! Read a book. Be glad you don’t have to schlep yourself to another soccer game. Or bug them about their homework. You can cry, that’s fine. But then try to have some fun and get on with your own life. Because there is nothing else you can do.
Wishing you all love and truth and not too much worry,
xo
Buzzy
Love this so much! Thank you for sharing this 💖🙏🦋
A little story about another son who ultimately went to college 1.2 miles from home (and how he turned CU into a swish private uni):
Oddly, I often remember only a sentence or two from my most loved books (even maintaining a commonplace book [until audible arrived] didn't help).
I read the Nora's neck one when it first came out and I remember the moment I came upon that HORRIBLE sentence, about not being able to do anything about it! It helped but just a little bit over the years.
As a former CU lecturer, I love saying, the following is NOT required reading but for me, it's cathartic writing.
My son is a sort of intellectual athlete who was always disappointed by school and spent high school biking, skiing, reading and then watching his friends go off to the ivies. Darn!
He did work with a CU prof on a linguistics project the last period of his senior year, writes a great essay and somehow, Reed College alone saw some potential.
The last morning of BHS, he left to pick up his cap and gown and asked for the the traditional family money to buy summer reading (not required) as he left. I didn't see him for a few hours and then my best friend called and said her son told her he and Owen were "down at the Trident with KH and that group of girls." When Owen came home, he said, "I saw that KH down at the Trident and she gave me a list of books to read!" - no better way to his heart!
They've been together ever since. Owen "did a Steve Jobs," meaning he left Reed after a semester, K left her back East school, I rented them a run-down cottage at Chautauqua and saw them very little for the remaining years in Boulder.
A HUGE regret of my own doing - why? there was no break or anything, just... busyness? finally giving his little sister (Reed, 2008) some attention?
SO, see your son A LOT the next 4 years!
(Ok maternal bragging rights follows, but possibly useful info for you).
K became the first person in CU history to graduate with two honors degrees, history and philosophy, was No. 1 grad her year and Owen was offered fellowships - well, everywhere - for brain science - Stanford, Berkeley, Cambridge, etc., and the one he accepted, MIT. K fell in love with neuroscience her last term at CU, reinvented herself in the Boston years and last year, got her PhD in AI from Stanford. Now they're both at Google, he at Labs, she at Brain, but pining to move back to beloved Boulder some day.
OK, too long to list all they did to turn CU into Reed but what Owen did that one Reed semester, while spending 7 hours a day playing pool, was to note everything a student gets and does there, and that was their model for CU. When I told my CU night-time continuing ed students how to do it, they took better notes than any of the biology I taught them all year.
SO, long story short, just turn CU into Brown and he'll have a wonderfully rewarding time! You probably already know this.
And thanks for helping my daughter, in answer to her questions when we both took your zoom during covid on getting published, to start interviewing punk rock writers for her Portland radio show.
Reed was not for Owen but was perfect for her, and at the end of her senior year, she told me, "Mom, I don't want to take my Fulbright to Petersburg, I want to stay in Portland and be in a punk band because 85% of the bands in Portland are all male." SO I sit here, in Portland, writing this as a break from helping her turn her old fixer-upper house into a punk house!