The Empty Nest

In the summer proceeding the emptying of our “nest,” our oldest daughter Cara brought us a gift. Cara, home from college for the summer, was walking and found two birds lying on the grass, one just barely alive. The bird, along with her lifeless sibling, had fallen from the nest. As if desiring to support us through the ritual of our impending “empty nest,” the bird, in falling from her nest, had made her self available to share a most profound lesson. As a teacher and student of mindfulness I was able to understand and use the concepts of mindfulness to soak in and experience this adventure richly and deeply and garner the deep universal truths as they unfolded. (Mindfulness is the discipline of being centered, calm, fully present and therefore available to experience the fullness of every moment. It is cultivated through the practice of various forms of meditation.)

Finding “baby bird food,” Cara, my husband Joe, our younger daughter Andrea and I began feeding our little guest whenever she “chirped” for food. Every one to two hours, we fed “Beaker” from a small syringe. Having a home office, the majority of Beaker’s care fell to me. Throughout the summer, I adapted to Beaker’s changing needs. As I watched this tiny creature blossom into the fullness of her potential, flashes of my own mothering experience surfaced. As she grew, I saw her feathers slowly blossom before my eyes. I watched her become stronger, at first barely able to stand, she began to “perch.” In my mind l saw my daughters take their first steps. I prayed that Beaker’s inborn instincts would guide her development. Concerns over how she would learn to fly, make a nest, find food and a mate all ran through my mind with each feeding, similar to the thoughts I had as I breastfed my daughters. I moved Beaker up and down as she perched on my finger hoping to stimulate/strengthen her wings. It was like running along side, holding my daughters’ bikes. Soon she began to “hop/fly” jumping around in the grass exploring her world. We moved her “nest” to the screen house to give her safe flying practice as well as to help her get used to the ambient temperatures... reminiscent of our daughters flights to kindergarten. By the fourth of July she was flying around the screen room although her landings were a bit clumsy. This improved as her tail feathers unfolded from their bony, cartilaginous cocoons. I coaxed her to fly to my out-stretched index finger before I would feed her, hoping this might pay off later when she was flying free and still hungry. I fed her worms to help her connect to natural food sources. We all delighted in her progress. Then the day came when, through a small hole in the screen house, she found her way to freedom. When I entered the screen house and found her gone, I became concerned. The angst filled my mind. “Was she safe? Hungry? Would I ever see her again? Was she a skilled enough flyer to avoid danger?” (I asked moments before the front door opened, when the girls were late.) Then I walked out of the screen house and heard the usual meal time “chirping” coming from the screen house roof. Filled with joy, I quickly retrieved her food and extended my index finger, she promptly flew to my finger and ate her fill.

After eating, she allowed me to stroke her back and speak soothingly to her (as I had always done after a meal) then she flew off. Thereafter, she would let us know she was hungry by chirping and flapping her wings wildly on the screen house roof. “Mom, when’s dinner? she seemed to say. Her flight range increased to the area immediately around the screen house. As her flight range increased, she no longer requested food. Instead, I would have to call her name and she would fly from different locations to my extended index finger to feed. Resembling our teenagers, meals became quick with Beaker taking flight after the last gulp. Gone were the moments of comforting words. As fall approached, we could hear her distinct chirp in the trees, but she would no longer respond to our calls. It reminded me of typical response, “Sorry Mom, I forgot to charge my cell phone.” I prayed Beaker was not hungry and had received all that she needed to be safe and happy on her own. I worried over how she would do in the winter, would she have a safe and warm place to sleep? Did she have friends, a mate? The flurry of thoughts as I dropped my daughter off at the dorm Beaker allowed me to see a “mini-series” version of my life as a mother. The tireless attention and devotion required in the early years, the natural struggles toward independence, the worries and fears that we might not be giving them what they need to be safe and successful. Beaker helped me to understand that we can strengthen and support the success of our children but must understand ultimately that they inherently have all it takes to fly. We must hold that truth firm as we say good-bye. Though I may not know from this point forward the specific experiences of Beaker or my daughters, I trust that they have what they need to succeed in their worlds. Being fully present in the moment allowed me to experience the richness of each emotion and the wisdom contained in this incredible lesson.

Teri Racey, PA, MA is a Health Consultant, Mindful Meditation teacher, Reiki Master and Kabbalistic healer and founder of The Illumined Heart Light Center in Royal Oak, Ml. She can be reached at (248) 545-4852 or visit www.illuminedheart.com.