It rained today.
The weatherman was wrong again. He didn’t predict rain, but still it came, buckets of torrential downpour accompanied by lightning flashes and growling thunder; a morning storm to delay the inevitable.
The three of us made dozens of trips, passing each other on the stairs. Nuka sat and watched wonderingly, his Husky ears twitching as if awaiting orders. I carried a crate of books from her childhood collection; every book worthy of bringing on the initial launch. She showed me a glass mug containing all the Lake Superior rocks she had collected over the dozens of trips to our favorite watering hole. She handed me Floppy, her favorite childhood stuffed animal, and asked me to take care of him while she was away.
The truck was finally loaded; the doors closed carefully to smush everything into place. Packed to the ceiling, Hubby would need to use his mirrors to drive. One more walk-through, and we’re off.
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to Nuka?”
“Bye, Nuka.”
She gave him a gentle pat and walked away, too proud to let the sadness peek through so early in the day.
But Nuka doesn’t understand. She’s leaving. It’s not just a sleepover; it’s forever.
After the dropoff, I returned home and put my shoes in the entryway closet. There were no Converse left out for me to trip over. Her black hoodie was not draped over the back of the couch. Her purse, Starbucks apron, and keys were not cluttering my kitchen counter. I walked by her bedroom and noticed the carpeting, which I hadn’t seen for years—no clothes on the floor. The bed was not buried; the closet - empty.
I sat on her bed and looked around. Her crib used to sit against the north wall. On sleepless nights, I would bounce her next to the crib singing “Jesus Loves Me” until she would settle. Years later, I would snuggle her in bed; my arms were her safety as I sang, “You are My Sunshine.” When her bed was lofted, she would drape her arms down, requesting a double-arm scratch as I did my best Ariel impression, “Look at this stuff, isn’t it neat? Wouldn’t you think my collection’s complete?”
It wasn’t just the snuggles and songs concerted in her room, but the prayers. Thousands of prayers were petitioned to our Heavenly Father. Prayers for sickness and unsaved friends. Prayers for Grandma and Grandpa and Gladys while they were still alive, yet failing. Prayers for friendships that fell apart. Prayers for future plans that would align with God’s plan.
And God knows the plans He has for her; plans to mold her and shape her into who He created her to be. She will experience love and rejection, joy and sadness, friendship and loneliness, financial highs and lows, sickness and health. Throughout all of life’s bumpy roads, she will need to choose who she follows. Yes, she has been trained up in the way that she should go, but she is not yet old. “Lord, please keep her eyes fixed on you.”
I sit now in this empty house, which for years was too small for my family of six, and now seems too big for Hubby and me. It’s somehow much too quiet without Gen-Z music playing behind her closed bedroom door. The turnaround in the driveway seems empty without her car. No beauty products are filling the shower shelves.
Her stool at the breakfast bar sits empty; nobody to chat with me as I prepare dinner. Hubby and I eat dinner in silence, surrounded by four vacant chairs. Nuka stares at the hollow space, which used to be a home filled with laughter and bickering, teasing and teaching, music and reading. Life.
But across the river that divides Wisconsin from Minnesota, my girl is spending the first night in her life no longer living in the house to which I brought her home from the hospital.
And it is good.
For the weatherman was wrong again. He had predicted clouds for the rest of the day, but I am looking out at clear blue skies. The sun is beaming through the windows, creating elongated patterns across my living room floor.
The next season of life has begun.
Photo by Sam Moghadam on Unsplash
Loved the line: " I sit now in this empty house, which for years was too small for my family of six, and now seems too big for Hubby and me" .... that was exactly how I felt too! Thanks for sharing!
I sometimes wish I could have just one day of a houseful of kiddos, but I am trying to embrace this new season. It's a good thing I love to read!!