Recently, I met two people of different age groups. One is my doctor friend whom I met yesterday at a party. She casually mentioned, “So, how’s your empty nest ? You must be having ample of time now.” I responded, “I consider it as launch pad rather than empty nest.” She smiled back and nodded, “Beautiful thought. I never thought it like this.” Second one is an adult in a relationship since 2 years. He mentioned, “ My girl friend has taught me how to live, behave, moral values etc.” I was taken aback and asked,” What about your mother?” I know his mother as a sincere dedicated mother. He replied, “Yes, she has raised me up, but my girlfriend has taught me things which my mother couldn’t!” For once I fell short of words and chose to be quite.
I am at an age where all in my household are above 18
years. House which chirped with voices of my children has gone quiet. My fridge
is nearly empty except for basics – milk, curd, bread and eggs, few basic vegetables
and apples. Big cherries, Avocado, Dragon fruit, grapes, tender coconut are nowhere
to be seen. Mixer doesn’t whirr, dosa tawa stands at one corner of my kitchen,
idli stand peeps from the cabinet, coffee jar is empty. The only biscuits our
pantry has are digestive and multigrain. In nutshell, there is silence, maybe
emptiness.
No one prepares you for the silence children leave behind when they grow up. The silence that seeps into your heart, when they no longer ask what to do or when they stop seeking your advice. It’s not about the silence of an empty home, rather silence when they begin living, without you. Of course, I smile — because this is what I always wanted: to see them take their flight. But I feel shaken, deep inside.
Being the mother of grown children hits different. Holding back words when you see them making mistakes or swallowing the urge to call when they don’t answer. This phase prepares you to learn to love without interfering. A mother learns to watch from a distance, with still hand and a trembling heart.
Sometimes they share things with you, but often they
don’t. And you pretend it doesn’t hurt. But it does. It hurts not to be part of
everything, as before. It hurts to realize they no longer need you — at least,
not in the same way. And yet, you’re still there. Cooking their favorite meals
when they visit. Spreading out childhood photos. Sending greetings and messages
every day without fail, hoping for a reply. Mother’s heart whispers prayers for
her children every night, as if those words alone could shield them from the
world.
“I will call you Maa in fifteen minutes,” these words brings joy and hope to a mother’s heart and she waits, waits and waits. Because deep down, a mother can never stop caring. She simply learns to do it from the shadows, from a corner, from a prayer. This is a love no one sees… yet it holds everything together. This is the circle of life.
Moral: Being the mother of an adult child means
accepting that you are no longer the center of their life — but continuing to
love as if you still were. Because some love never fades… it simply learns to
wait in silence.