Some baby birds jump, others are pushed. The ensuing moments involve either falling, flying, or most likely a bit of both. Regardless of individual baby bird trajectory the outcome is two fold; a new adventure, and an empty nest. We’ve likely all found one, an empty nest. Pruning a tree or shrub, or walking through the woods, we spy it. An abandoned nursery. Quaint. A little bird home that served its purpose and now sits vacant, slowly succumbing to the ravages of the time and the elements. How different it feels when it is our own nest that becomes empty.
Today my youngest graduated from high school. Like his brother before him he is taking flight. Adult life beckons and shines with opportunities and possibilities, the denouement of which I will hopefully not witness. Funny how we nurture and coax, guide, and when wisdom prevails know how to remain silent in the run up to this taking of flight. Funny because we pour ourselves whole heartedly into the shaping of a story, the final chapters of which we release unfinished to the wind. It’s a beautiful, heart wrenching, bittersweet reality.
Go in peace my sons. Fly high and free. From here the journey is yours to define. That said, please know as you make your way that you have always been, and will always be loved beyond measure.