Sir, – The rearing of our children passes in the blink of an eye. Before we know it, they are adults preparing to leave the sanctuary of our home. They depart for pastures new. For some, college far from home beckons and they leave. For others, like us, it happens later. Our time has now come.
Our sons have just moved out, setting up home together, for now. For us and for them, their leaving heralds a change in our relationships with them and with each other. It will impact on how we all interact with each other. New parameters will be established. For all of us, this is a new departure, another chapter in our lives. The departure has come upon us. Happy days!
Happy days but where’s the din? Gone the hectic bustle in the mornings, as they ready themselves for the rush out the door to their daily toil. I cope, missing the sound of the shower pumping efficiently, but noisily, first thing in the morning. Sprays of hot water gushing forth, not once but twice, at six minutes each session. That shower pump had, more than any alarm clock ever could, daily shattered the peace of my hoped for gentle transition from sleep to wide awake. In its wake, the wet bathroom floor, the uncapped toothpaste, empty shower gel bottle and laundry basket bulging with sodden towels. I no longer wake to the sound of the shower pump.
Breakfast, for one of them was Weetabix, lots of it, and for the other, porridge, sometimes with a twist. Then they were off, the city centre and work calling as they assumed their roles in helping keep the national engine oiled and running. My sons, my pride and joy.
They are no more here in this house, setting a pace for my day. Thus, I begin my day, a mother and semi-retired housewife with dad in residence, too.
The curiously almost empty laundry basket greets me on the landing, and two neatly made beds in even tidier bedrooms stop me in my tracks. I am reminded that we are now two, not four, in number. The interminable washing, ironing, the “do me a favour” requests, shopping, specialist food, favourite dinners, and other cooking, are now no longer required. The almost pristine kitchen – no used cereal bowls, no crumbs, no random cutlery atop the draining board, unwashed, never to find its way to the dishwasher – confirms it. Indeed, we are as we once were, just us two. My sons, my pride and joy, gone.
My morning ambles on as before. I occupy myself with household chores. The ordinariness of the ritual of work continues; bed to be made, kitchen to be tidied, clothes in washing machine – but now in relatively smaller quantities. Shopping list to be written and then quickly edited to reflect the departure of two. I consider, for a moment, texting the boys “What would you like for dinner?” and then I catch myself. It will be dinner for two today.
Onwards, into the mid-morning, all seems as it was before their leaving. I busy myself – a brisk walk in the park or a gym session, a class in Trinity, a supermarket trip, or perhaps a coffee with a girlfriend. I’ll vent to her. “How was it for you when your’s left?” Her tale of the departure replicates mine, in so many ways.
I take comfort, and this is how it is meant to be. It is life, and it is following a natural order. I am happy with that, because they are happy. My sons, my pride and joy, starting out.
Noon comes along quickly and soon a son, as is his wont, texts a “How’s your day?” There is warmth, a thoughtfulness, in that gesture, and happiness for me. All is as it was before, for now. I think of senior son, who probably won’t text – a different personality – but my thoughts here are happy ones too. Maybe he’ll text me a “Do me a favour” request. Who knows? I am still available, aren’t I?
Mid-afternoon finds me in the kitchen. There is dinner to prepare and cook, as usual. It will be an oft-cooked recipe, one we all ate, generally together. The prep begins and soon I realise I’m mentally halving the ingredient requirements – four potatoes not eight, two carrots instead of four, a half head of broccoli not a whole one. I turn to set the table – four knives, four forks, four glasses; but no, wait, this time I will set the table for two. My sons, my pride and joy, will dine elsewhere tonight.
We sit to eat dinner à deux. My thoughts wander, mother-hen fashion, as to what will they eat this evening. Will they cook dinner, or just make do with fast food. I realise, then, it is not my concern and that is, in a way, liberating. Whether it be a gourmet dinner or fast food, it is their choice now. In every way now they are separate units, no longer living under our roof. It is a new departure, a turning of the page and it is good. My sons have left home.
A text notification sounds on my phone. It’s senior son – he’ll be over for dinner Thursday evening, as will junior son. I’ll cook one of their favourite dinners, “mammy food”. The table will be set for four once again. We will catch up then. My sons are coming home if only for a while. Happy days! – Yours, etc,
ANNE O’NEILL,
Terenure, Dublin 6W.