From Nashville to Chicago: The Gift of the In-Between and an Empty Nest, Again

7.21.26

The bedroom is empty, the bathroom vanity clear, and a corner of our living room lonely. This corner our daughter called her office is missing the desk covered in notes only an editor keeps, along with her favorite keepsakes and the chair she claimed as her own. No longer is our shared vanity laden with her skincare, rings, and contacts case. Nor her “office” window decorated with the collar of Henry, her beloved cat, and a Hello Kitty ceramic keepsake. The space heater is no longer blowing heat on her often cold feet, and there are no empty water bottles left on the floor and table alongside her office. Her high-tech desk, soft-touch keyboard, two computer screens, a wilting rose, and cute collectibles are all gone—all but the rose, packed away and moved with her to Chicago.

Two and a half years ago, she unexpectedly moved back into our home, a surprise transition that turned out to be a profound gift to her father and me. What started as an unpredictable adjustment became a season of joy, rewriting the rhythm of our daily lives. Her presence filled our mostly quiet spaces with an abundance of laughter, shared television shows, talks, love, and sweet moments that we never anticipated enjoying again with our grown daughter at our fingertips. How thankful we will forever be for the gift of this now passed season.

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Three years ago this September, our youngest, Nikolaus, packed up and moved to Chicago. Three years ago this October, our oldest, Rebekah Jane, moved back home.

Having flown the nest shortly after college, Rebekah had been happily living on her own with various roommates and successfully working as an editor for a local digital newspaper. Our girl was thriving in Nashville, living near her brother as he happily ventured into the restaurant industry. We were adjusting our sails to life as empty nesters, and life was, in most cases, just as it should be.

But not too long after Niko moved to Chicago, Rebekah came home. The realities of life had dealt her some unexpected blows—a painful breakup, a job layoff, and the isolation and fallout from COVID. She needed a soft place to land. Knowing her childhood home would be filled with unconditional love and respect for the adult woman she had become, she took the risk and moved back into her bedroom and our daily lives.

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Blending our lives back together was an exercise in both love, humor and logistics, as we quickly discovered that welcoming back an independent, nearly thirty year old adult was as we knew it would be, very different from raising a teenager. Suddenly, but with a welcomed and somewhat unexpected ease three different schedules, varying definitions of a clean kitchen, and entirely different thermostats began to coexist under one roof.

The comedy of errors began almost immediately. Our quiet, predictable evenings were replaced by the antics and habits of our always funny girl. Like her daddy, making us laugh came naturally. Her new job found her working from home, while our jobs left her with an empty house and freedom from the parents during the day. We shared the kitchen, and often bathroom time, and learned to navigate the delicate boundaries of personal space. Within this learning curve, early uncertainties often dissolved into laughter and mostly sweet conversation.

We watched and made commentary on TV like it was our night job. From the comfort of the family room, her father relaxed, listened to us talk back to the television and happily let the girls be girls. Like college roommates, we watched movies and more shows than I can count. Both early and late nights often led us to laughter, shared tears, and discussions about life—unpacking her childhood, reflecting on where we’d been, and navigating life in the present. Her Daddy and I were thrilled to have her home and enjoying it more than any of us could have imagined.

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Rebekah, a TV and pop culture connoisseur, shared a window into her world through movies and television. We took the Wicked journey together, obsessively at times, and her father and I were reintroduced to the Mission: Impossible franchise. Scandal, The Traitors, Dancing with the Stars, Love Is Blind, and, most recently, Summer House were favorites we scheduled our evenings around. To be clear, our TV was not her father’s TV, but it worked. It gave us mother-daughter time I’d long missed, and maybe she had to. When we weren’t enjoying face-to-face time with her, we relished hearing her laughter from across the house. We were constantly amused by her loud interactions with the Housewives of every city and The Secret Lives of Mormon Wives, just to mention a few.

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Rebekah and I see eye to eye on much of the world’s and nation’s pain, so she became a confidant and a source of support during these tumultuous times. Her compassion for the hurting and marginalized is inspiring, admired and applauded.

Shortly before the move, we played Scrabble over two nights and laughed until we cried. Her laughter and ability to make us chuckle or full-on bust a gut at the simplest things brought gifts back to us that we didn’t realize we had missed. It is a beautiful, aching contradiction to feel so excited for her and proud of her courage while simultaneously mourning the quiet she leaves behind.

She helped see me through the searing pain of my mother’s death, walking alongside my siblings and me as we brought my mom to our house in her final days on this side of heaven; that had been her wish. I was so proud of how both our children kept vigil by their grandmother’s side—just how their Nanny, my mama, would have wanted it. Rebekah, Niko, and their father were my earthly angels; how blessed we were to have both children home in a great time of need.

My feisty little girl, sometimes hesitant to share her soft side, had grown into a strong young woman who could take the reins and lead with deep compassion and tenderness when it was needed most.

But time doesn’t stand still, and the soft place to land eventually became a launching pad. Two and a half years of healing, laughter, and effortless friendship brought her back to herself—ready, once again, to take on the world. This time, her eyes were set on Chicago, with New York the eventual goal.

We spent so much time laughing with and at each other. She has this way of turning our aging quirks into hilarious comedy routines, and her impersonations of us are absolutely spot-on. Her father and I were the perfect, willing audience. Somewhere in the middle of it all, my daughter quietly became my friend—a live-in bestie through thick and thin. It was a beautiful bonus to watch DJ and his girl in action. I call them “pea and pod”—although they are quite different, they often think alike, act alike, and understand each other

The bittersweet reality of her departure settled into our bones long before we hit the road for the Windy City. She secured her studio apartment, shopped online, made plans, and bought a new car. In the midst of her moving plans, she shared in the excitement of us finding our next home—a small hobby farm for future horses, new adventures, and what will hopefully be cozy visits “home” for our children, family, and friends.

Now, I stand in the doorway of her bedroom and her living room “office.” The silence is heavy where her working life, books aplenty, ambient light, and piles of clothes used to overflow. The shower is missing her shampoo, and the closet is missing her towels. Looking at the bare walls and the lonely corner of the living room, the full realization of these empty spaces hits me. They aren’t just missing clothing, books, and candles, or a desk, keyboard, and a Hello Kitty keepsake. What’s painfully missing is my daily confidante—my live-in best friend, my one and only daughter, my Rebekah Jane.

Though the emptiness is palpable, tears are bittersweet and the quiet in these rooms is heavy, my heart is filled with peace. Her father and I hold tight to the memories of these last two and a half years, as we send her off with endless prayers into a new beginning. Knowing she is reunited with Nikolaus—two siblings who love each other to fiercely—brings great comfort to us. We love them both, endlessly. We will miss her daily presence, humor, and laughter more than words can say, but find absolute joy in watching our children thrive together in the Windy City. Go get ’em, my sweet girl and thank you for the gift of time with you.