Sitting at the computer on a Friday evening in a very quiet home, my thoughts turn to the words of a beloved folk song, (with a slight adjustment to the lyrics):
Where have you gone, my little ones, little ones,
Where have you gone, my babies, my own?
Turn around and you're two,
Turn around and you're four,
Turn around and you're young men with lives of your own.
Where have you gone, my babies, my own?
Turn around and you're two,
Turn around and you're four,
Turn around and you're young men with lives of your own.
I can recall so vividly the fervent prayers I made to my Father in Heaven that the desires of my heart to become a mother would soon come to pass. The tears of sadness and the deep pain felt as each month brought an unwanted visitor.
"It would take an act of God," were the words that repeated in my mind. Words from the doctor.
"Faith and doubt, cannot co-exist", I heard from the pulpit.
"After the trial of your faith," close friends would remind me.
Comfort would not come, but only in His perfect time....
The joys of motherhood. There is nothing greater. I miss the newborn smell, breast feeding, cooing, smiles, grunts and all the "firsts'. Oh, what I would give to go back to the days when I sometimes felt like I was trapped, being held hostage, because I could not break away to take a shower, do the dishes, make a bed, chat on the phone with an adult or even go to the bathroom. I thought the weight would never come off...and it never did. My clothes were stained at the shoulder and typically, I made it through a day without even a shower, let alone make-up or hair styling. I sacrificed it all and yet wouldn't have it any other way.
Then hubby would come home and find dishes piled in the sink, toys strewn across the floor, dirty diapers filling up the trash cans, and a wife with a glazed over look. "What's for dinner honey?" are the words he suppressed as my head turned in his direction. "Oh don't you dare," he could read in my eyes.
My biggest fears when they were little, were for their physical safety. I prayed they would be free of injuries, diseases, and abduction. I prayed, because of my age, that I would live long enough to see my boys graduate from high school. Well, maybe long enough to be around when they served a mission and got married in the temple. Would it be too much to ask if I could still be here when they had children of their own, to experience the joys of being a grandmother? If I could just make it to that point, then all would be well.
The teenage years were not as difficult as I had anticipated. For the most part, I felt blessed with good sons. The concerns were different and often greater however, as I realized that I was not able to control their choices, nor the consequences of their actions.
Now my love, appreciation, and understanding of my Heavenly Father has increased immensely as I have experienced the greater challenges that come with parenting adult children. A mother never stops worrying and praying for her children's safety, physically, emotionally, and most importantly, spiritually.
An empty nest brings freedom. At the end of my work day, I can make whatever I want for dinner, clean, run errands, write, read, work on Family History, visit a neighbor or talk on the phone, if I want to. I have all the time available to me, to do all those things that I didn't have the time for while raising my sons.
Oh, what I would do to trade the quiet home and the time on my hands for the pitter-patter of little feet, giggles and lizards, silly songs and nursery rhymes, spaghetti on the floor, sloppy kisses and great big hugs, hours on the swings, bubbles in the tub, trips to the zoo, Wild Animal Park, Sea World and the Del Mar Fair, homeschooling, and years at the dojo.
There is truly an emptiness that comes with an empty nest.
There is truly an emptiness that comes with an empty nest.
