I wonder if mother birds have any moments of regret as they push their little ones out of the nest. Are they enjoying their morning worms wondering if their babies will ever fly back to visit them? Are they flitting from tree to tree, secretly worrying that their offspring will disappear, never bothering to give them a call except when they're running out of birdseed? They must be. Human beings can't be the only species cursed to feel the desolation of watching their child move out. That just wouldn't be fair.
Today, my sister had to help her son pack up his humble belongings and watch him head off to his new residence five hours and a couple of states away. This wasn't the first time she had to say goodbye; he graduated from an out-of-state school. But this was different. This time, he wouldn't be coming home for Spring Break; this time, he wouldn't be back for the summer. Nothing in this life is forever but he had signed a lease; he had accepted a job offer. This felt permanent. And my poor sister couldn't take it.
As I tried to comfort her, reassuring her that he wasn't moving that far; that he would be back for visits, I couldn't even buy what I was selling. I knew this sucked. I knew that it was beyond painful for her to welcome her college graduate back for a year of breakfast conversations, shared dinners, and late night talks only to have to say goodbye again.
We spent a long time on the phone trying to remind ourselves that this was what was supposed to happen; that this was the natural outcome of our jobs as mothers. We spent more than a few minutes congratulating each other for having raised some pretty terrific human beings; some remarkable people who were destined for great things. By the end of the conversation, we had come to one conclusion.
Turning out responsible, productive adults into the world may be what we're all shooting for but watching them fly the coop is definitely for the birds.
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