September can be such a joyous month and, at the same time, such a cruel month. In nature, it marks the end of summer’s lushness and the beginning of fall’s crispness.
For me personally, it’s usually been a time of loss – so many family members I cherished and loved passed away in September.
September – for those of us who have kids – has always been a month of transition from the lazier days of summer to the hectic demands of yet another academic year.
September is a vivid reminder of the relentless pace of change:
Silently cringing inside as we put our five year-old on the school bus for the very first time
Calming a nervous fifth grader making a transition to a new school
Trying to read a moody teenager’s needs as he or she enters high school
And, then, the goodbye: sending our youngest child off to college – the exhilaration and sadness of the empty nest.
That’s September.
Below is a column I wrote years ago that speaks of the experience.
I rinse peanut butter off the knife and put it in the dishwasher
I scrub dried mozzarella cheese from a plate and put it in the dishwasher too
I scrape carrot after carrot and painstakingly cut them into thin strips
I slice bagels for sandwiches, snacks, mini-pizzas and quick pick-me-ups
And all the time
I look out the kitchen window.
I see my children playing wiffle ball in the summer, their brows dripping with sweat
I see my children tossing a football in the fall, their feet slipping on the golden leaves
I see my children building snowmen in the winter, impatiently discarding scarves and hats as their cheeks get redder and their bodies warmer
I see my children pounding tennis balls against the garage wall in the spring, using muscles that have lain dormant over the winter
Sometimes it’s painful to look out the kitchen window.
I fry dozens of hamburgers and fill dozens of ceramic pitchers full of fresh lemonade for Max’s first party with girls.
I pop kernels and kernels and kernels of popcorn for after school snacks and Sunday football game gatherings for Louie and Frank.
I bake birthday cupcakes for Harry, painstakingly decorating each one with his name.
I melt bags of colored chocolate to mold into Valentine hearts for Sam and his gang of gangly guys.
And all the time –
I look out my kitchen window.
I see Harry teaching Frank how to properly load books, computer, and clothes into the car he’ll drive up to college.
I see Frank teaching Max how to back the car out of the garage
without hitting the tree (and his other brothers).
I see Max teaching Sam how to start the lawn mower after the motor is flooded.
I see Sam teaching Lou how to rake, bag and dump –
the leaves in fall and the grass clippings in summer.
Sometimes it’s painful to look out the kitchen window
and realize that one day
there will be no more lunches to pack,
carrots to scrape, kernels to pop, hamburgers to fry,
and children to watch.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
Iris Ruth Pastor
PS: How do YOU cope with the empty nest?