Grief Opens

By: Kathy Young Deegan

“An empty nest suggests abandonment and loss; an open door suggests new possibilities and the freedom to come and go.”

~Gretchen Rubin

It has been six months since we officially became empty nesters.

Six months since we dropped off the last of our three children in Michigan and flew home knowing this time was different. There would be no siblings waiting at home, no familiar routines to return to. Just the two of us sitting quietly on the plane with a heaviness that felt larger than any suitcase we had carried that week.

And there were a lot of suitcases.

It actually took us two trips to LAX just to get everything there — winter coats for the brutal Michigan cold, dorm essentials, bedding, books, snacks, and all the things I thought my daughter would need to survive life away from home. At the time, it felt excessive. Now I realize it was a metaphor for motherhood itself.

Because what I was really carrying wasn’t luggage. It was years of preparation. Years of school drop-offs, late-night talks, grocery store runs, celebrations, disappointments, and prayers whispered over sleeping children. At one point, I calculated that I had done nearly 14,000 school drop-offs and pickups over the course of 17 years.

By the final goodbye, I wasn’t carrying bags anymore. I was carrying grief.

That’s the odd thing about the empty nest season: pride and loss arrive together. You are deeply grateful your children have grown into capable adults, while simultaneously mourning the end of a chapter that shaped your entire identity.

For many mothers, the grief is not just about missing our children. It’s the loss of rhythm. The loss of being constantly needed. The loss of a life that moved at full speed for decades.

And when the noise finally quiets, we are left facing ourselves again.

The truth is, I still miss my children every day.

But I’m also learning that loss is not always an ending. 

An ending can also be an opening. 

Alongside the grief, there has also been something else: 

Freedom. Space. Permission to rediscover parts of myself that had been sitting quietly on the back burner for years.

If you are approaching this season, or standing in the middle of it right now, let me tell you what I wish someone had reminded me more often: You will survive this transition–not perfectly nor without tears. But you will survive it.

And somewhere on the other side of the sadness, you may even discover new joy waiting for you there too.

What might the “open door” of this season be inviting you toward?

How can you give yourself permission to transition slowly instead of rushing to feel okay?

Additional Resources:

🎙️Listen to Kathy’s empty-nest podcast interview here