Ticket, please

For the last three weeks, we have been in a flurry of activity. I am (quite honestly) exhausted. We went on a family vacation. We set up one child in her first apartment. We took another child to her freshman year of college. The last couple of days, I have been cleaning the house and trying to remember how to cook for two. I call home to talk to one of the girls and ask them to take out dinner from the freezer and stick it in the oven... and they aren't there. And then I remember. Ooops. I finished the last load of laundry for the four of us, clothes that they didn't take with them, and now there's just laundry for the two of us. The dishwasher has barely had enough dishes in it to wash. 

This is life as "empty nesters" -- with the chicks just out of the nest. It's disorienting.

I now sit at my computer, wondering what in the hell I will do with my life. I mean, with the part of life that isn't my job (a pastor). I wonder if I want to be married any more. I wonder if I only did my job and life to just be a mom. I wonder how to be a friend. I don't know how my kids are sleeping tonight. I'm not around to know if they are still up, chatting on their computers, listening to music, or reading. I can't hug them good night. Or good morning.

I worry that they aren't adjusting. That they are unhappy. That they have second-thoughts. I wonder if the new job is going well, if the new college life is OK. I hope that both are in safe and caring relationships. I worry about their safety at night. And most of all, I worry that our daughters are going to struggle, suffer and go through heartache that I've been praying against since they were born.

Tonight I walked into each of their half-empty rooms. There are items on the walls, on the floor, in the dressers. There are piles of things to be picked up and put away. The rooms still smell like them - whiffs of shampoo, a slight perfume, a scented candle. The smells are fading fast. I can hardly catch them except when a room wind current changes and concentrates the scents.

I picked up a sweatshirt from the floor, hugged it to my chest and bawled like a baby. I cried for all of the years that I have worked and played with their lives at the center of my husband's and mine. I cried for the missed opportunities. I cried for my mistakes. I cried, most of all, for the fact that I can't get those years back... 

I can move forward, however. I can choose to be a better parent of young adults than I ever was in the baby/toddler/preschool/school/teen years. I can pray for them more consistently and cherish them when they choose to be at home.

My husband does not have the same emotional upheaval that I do. But then, I was the one to miss work to take them to the doctor or stay home when they were sick. The rare Sunday he could not cover childcare, I would pay a sitter, race to church and do my pastor thang, and then race home to finish the poop/puke/fever duty.

God called me to marriage, parenthood and the pastorate. And, God knows, I will be doing the same tomorrow.

This grief that parents feel, especially mothers, is not new to me. I know that. I prepared for it, pre-grieved it, and cried all the way home from college drop-off. 

I've punched my ticket on so many parenting milestones that I earned my frequent mama miles. You name it, I've done it. Nursing. Diapers. Preschool. Birthday parties. Music lessons. Martial arts. School field trips. Church youth group. Sunday school. PTA. Room mommy. Band parent. Drama parent. College interview trips. 

TICKET PLEASE.

Punch. Punch. Punch. Punch. 

I feel clueless. What's the next ticket for? Where does it go? For how long? What's the itinerary? I no longer have the school year calendar to define my days off. I don't know what is going on with school/college/grad school, unless they choose to tell me.

I feel like an Israelite, wandering in the desert, picking up manna and whining that I miss leeks and onions. I know better. This is a good place to be and I am not alone.

God walks before me. God shows me the way. There is no question but that I have a God who infinitely, unconditionally loves my husband and children more than I ever will.

My ticket is in my hand. Where are we going now, Lord?