03/23/2026
When Is an empty dish more than just an empty dish?
It might just be when your child is in college.
A Motherβs Reflection by Tracey M. Reilly
As I wandered past my sonβs room yesterday I couldnβt help but notice an empty dish. It was sitting at an angle atop a layer of books. Inside lay the remains of a ground beef tomato mixture, long since hardened into a mass of reddish brown ridges.
Smiling to myself I grabbed it and marched into the kitchen like a woman on a mission. Getting the soaking process going; because there is a method here, one honed by decades of experience. I felt somehow buoyed by the fact I could do something. His caretaker once again.
You see this is my baby. My last wee birdie. I realised in that moment just how incredibly hard it is to let them go and grow and yet always be there and remain that safe haven. The nest they can always fly back to. But ohβ¦..how to let go in inches while desperately wanting to hold on in milesβ¦. To familiarity, to memories, to that sacred mothering role. One which Iβm discovering thankfully never disappears but changes throughout the years.
I had wished to let go gracefully during this stage, but instead I find my eyes filling in checkout lines. And consistently making too much for dinner. Or pacing the house wondering why I suddenly have so much less to do than I did before.
Just the other day I found myself staring at the laundry hamper, not in joy that it was very nearly empty but in a kind of a daze. Feeling all at once both incredibly proud and strangely untethered.
I realised then that I welcome new experiences while simultaneously fearing them. Somehow fearing losing my very self in the process. But life is usually a little bit kinder than we imagine it to be.
I take regular deep breaths these days and remind myself every morning that this life is a series of firsts. Growth can be sad, but it is also inherently deliriously sweet.
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