Would we call it ironic that on the heels of Mother's Day, I find myself home alone, my youngest daughter having moved to her first apartment this weekend? Whatever we call it, it is hitting hard. No matter how many carbs I have noshed, no matter that I spent a lovely weekend on the water dog-sitting for a friend, nor the 90 minute drive to a nearby town to visit at a barbecue joint with a west coast bestie I haven't seen in years, now that I am here and just feeling into the relative silence at my house, I really feel ALONE.
Now ALONE and lonely are not the same, I have oft been careful to point out. As a single woman over 50, I am VERY happy, and spend a lot of time by myself. But until now, there has been a constant sense of myself as a mother, with duties only as far away as the sound of the garage door opening and footsteps clomping up the stairs. But now I am left with just myself and a couple of cats. Even though the feline needs are frfr(that's for real for real for those who are NOT parent to a gen Z or millennial) I feel heart-sore at the absence of those babies, turned toddlers, turned tweens, turned teens, turned young women ready to fledge. And I don't know if I am ready to like it yet. So I will sit and I will feel. I will not push away what I am beginning to recognize as grief mixed with love and pride. And I will practice the yoga of letting go.
Join me for asana this week by clicking the link below.