Emma Beddington is absolutely spot-on about the overwhelming feelings of grief when children leave home (‘It struck me like a thunderbolt’: how to survive empty-nest syndrome – and come out smiling, 15 September). My main fear was of my own neediness. I couldn’t phone my son in his first week at Manchester in case he cut the call short – I would have felt devastated. So I waited. Eventually I got a text: “What shall I buy for my first food shop?” I was elated. The boy who’d refused to cook at home was about to do just that, and he was asking my advice.
By the end of term he was making curries from scratch with one of his flatmates, and we were exchanging messages about recipes and ingredients. Since then the kids, now graduated, have set up a WhatsApp group, for us, them and their partners. Contact is maintained through shared jokes, YouTube links and naff or stupid news stories. I have an Instagram account to view their photos. We still have our humour and interests in common; the relationship hasn’t ended but continues to evolve. As a male friend gruffly put it: “You’ll survive it; we all do.”
Stephanie Calman
London
• It is heartbreaking when your child suddenly leaves home. We found a great cure for that sense of emptiness, quite by accident: rescuing Siberian huskies; first one, then a year later a second. They are incredible animals: quite demanding, like teenagers, but also very friendly, and ours were both very happy to find a secure home. It’s very much like having two cheeky kids in the house. And when our son comes home to see us they go absolutely nuts as soon as he arrives. What a welcome home he receives. And as a bonus they sometimes sing to us – if the land line is not answered fast enough, they will sing along with it.
Gerry Mewton
Reading
• I cried buckets when my last child left, and missed her like mad. We talked regularly on the phone, and I was full of good advice until one day she said in frustration down the phone: “Mum, please stop giving me advice, just listen.” Such a good lesson. She’s now in her mid-40s and we laugh about it, but it taught me something. We get so used to giving our children guidance, and finding solutions, instead of just taking the time to listen.
Harriet Gibson
Wezembeek-Oppem, Belgium
• I vividly remember the empty silence in the first minutes on returning from dropping our son at university. “I don’t like it,” I said. I was fortunate to have friends who were going through the same experience, or who had experienced it the year before. “He is starting the next stage of his life, doing what he wants where he wants, and that is a lovely thing,” remarked one. Our children are on an outward trajectory for a few years, but eventually it turns inward again and, with recalibration, the relationship is renewed. In the meantime, you rediscover your own person, which enriches what you bring to it.
Dr Penny Hart
Southsea, Portsmouth
• I started a mature student BA course at 47, at the same time as my youngest daughter left for university, and felt liberated. All three were at different universities and they supported me. My middle daughter bought me a backpack for my books, and off I went, sharing their undergraduate experience and feeling very privileged to be catching up. I can recommend it.
Lesley Metherell
Lindfield, West Sussex
• Do not fret, Emma. As a dear friend and mother of six once said to me: “Jane, they leave you on their own and return in pairs.” So true. After various comings and goings, alone and in pairs, and later with grandchildren, the last lot moved out two years ago, at 43 and 44 years old with a 10-year-old and an eight-year-old. All nicely settled now and very hospitable to “the olds”. I’m planning to have some chairs recovered.
Jane Lawson
London
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