The day my son left home
On 9 February 2024, my elder son moved out. How our world has changed since.
It was 9 February 2024.
He has just returned from a month-long trip to Singapore to spend time with his grandparents and relatives. We have been busy getting his apartment ready for two weeks now, and I have been driving the 48 km journey, back and forth, every day, to move his stuff. Today was the day he would stay over at his new place all by himself; our little boy has grown up.
Last year was quite a hassle for him; an hour and a bit of travel to Uni during peak hours wasn’t the only problem. Long periods between tutorials and lectures meant spending all that time in the library or the gym or cafes. It was tiring, and it was wearing him down. As a result, he missed one too many lectures and opportunities for socialising.
So at the end of 2023, he decided he wanted to rent a place closer to the University. We found an apartment that was a few minutes’ walk to the Uni. He will have a housemate, and have to work to pay rent. He will not neglect his studies, and promise to take good care of himself.
He also promised he will visit often.
And then he moved out
My wife and I didn’t really notice much difference the first couple of weeks. Maybe because we were still driving to his new apartment to deliver stuff every other day. And having dinner together when we were there.
“Dad, do we have an extra pot? Something bigger than what I have?”
“Dad, the side table next to my bed. Can you bring it down?”
“Are you using the Anova? What about the Nutribullet?”
I didn’t mind the drive. In fact, I often looked for opportunities to drop in:
“What about these wine glasses? Do you want them?”
“And your Manga collection? Do you want me to drop them off?”
“Mommy says this arm chair will fit nicely in your living room. Shall I bring it tomorrow?”
Over time, as he settled in, we could see that he was happy. He made new friends and found a new job that’s near where he lived. He took up sports and has a gym buddy. He has been really busy, with work and studies and socialising, and didn’t quite have time to visit. We spoke occasionally through video calls on WhatsApp.
We saw less and less of him.
We miss him
It took us a while to notice that the house was a little quieter. There were fewer clothes to wash, and less grocery to buy. We used to have cocktails in the evenings after dinner because he loved to make them. And he used to cook up a storm, leaving lots of washing up for me after.
His room, now the guest room, is empty. And the door, usually closed, is now always open. Our younger son is finishing high school this year and will probably go to Uni next. He’s also thinking about doing the same. And we will encourage him when the time comes.
It’s going to be really quiet around here.
Learning to let go
I read from somewhere (I think it was “Confucius from the Heart” by Professor Yu Dan) that all love seeks to bring together; only a parent’s love seeks to separate. Not because parents want to be separated from their children, but because they want their children to become independent and able to go out on their own. They want their children to leave the nest. It is a kind of self-sacrificing love seeking separation. It is very difficult to comprehend, and it did not become apparent to us until now.
…all loves seek to bring together, only a parent’s love seeks to separate.
And what a strange feeling this is. We are proud of the fact that he can now support himself and to live independently. He’s paying rent and buying groceries. He has learned to get along well with his housemate, his employers, his teachers, and his friends. He is completely on his own.
This brings sadness and joy at the same time. It is also confusing. I still occasionally nag at him, in the same way I always do, to not spend too much time on computer games, to sleep early, to eat his vegetables. I forget he no longer wants my supervision, something I was used to doing all his life.
Empty nest syndrome
I imagine this is what every parent has to go through. For my wife and I, much of our identity and daily routine have revolved around our two boys over the last two decades. When they were very young, my wife was their full-time carer. Walking them to school and to the park and playground, every day. Cooking for them, teaching them to read and to write, and taking care of all their needs, every day.
When they were teens, my wife and I switched roles. She worked full time, and I became the stay-at-home dad while running a small restaurant. The boys were my helpers when we were open for business 3 days a week; they were my cashiers and front-of-house, my sous chef and “dishies”. I was daddy and coach, boss and Uber driver. I was their ringleader and cheerleader. And I attended when the teacher called.
We were the centre of their universe. And they were the centre of ours.
So what are we now as they go out on their own? How do we deal with this widening gap? This lack of purpose and need? How did my parents deal with this? I now know why my mother was always happy when I came home each week. And why my parents-in-law are always anticipating: “When are you coming to Singapore again?”
Things changes
We realised now that both our boys are (becoming) adults. And we are learning to relate to them as adults. We are learning, as they are learning, to see each other as equals. This is not as easy as it seems, for us and for them. I am learning to hold my tongue when I notice something I dislike and learning to let them figure it out; making mistakes but also making the right decisions as they go along.
I am learning that they are no longer “ours”. They are theirs.
For my wife and I, there is also a sense of freedom and relief. In some ways, we feel that we have done our duty, and our pride suggests that we have done it well. But it was more than duty, of course. It was a deep, deep love that only a parent can understand.
But on the bright side, we are now learning to readjust to living with just each other again. We have plans to travel and renovate the kitchen. Maybe reconfigure the garden. We go for walks. Lose weight and exercise. Write a blog. Spend time with family and friends. And get ready for the arrival of grandchildren.
But It’s going to be really quiet around here.
But we are always theirs
This weekend, he’s coming home for Mother’s Day. We are all so looking forward to our first reunion since he moved out. He’s going to cook up a storm and I can’t wait to do the washing up. We’ll have a nice bottle of Fiano and hours of catching up.
It will be a GREAT weekend!
Once you are a parent, you never really stopped being a parent. Your children can become parents, even grandparents, but you will always be theirs. You will walk this path for the rest of your life; always worrying, always caring, always looking forward to their coming home.
It is a gift and a privilege, a responsibility and a duty. I remember all the hardship and sacrifices that my parents made for me and my siblings, and now more than ever, I appreciate every single bit of it. I will continue to watch from the side-line as my boys begin their own adventure going forward.
I will be here when they need me.
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