One leaves the nest

Last year my oldest child Ryan moved to sunny Queensland for his career. I was excited, proud and joyous for him, underneath that lurked a dark feeling of despair that I tried to shake of like a swarm of pesky bugs.
Leading up to that fateful day our house was a flurry of activity, organising furniture and his personal possessions for the big haul. I even wrote a manual for him, "Mum's guide to moving out and surviving" It covered all topics from nutrition and cooking for one to a very, very large chapter on money & budgeting. Out of all the kids, Ryan was the only one that had a very weak grasp of the essentials of being money wise. This worried me.
With last minute tips and advice in between the hugs, kisses and tears, he climbed into his car and set of down the road. I was strong, smiling with only a slight tad of a quaver of the bottom lip. Around the corner he zoomed and then he was gone.
Walking inside, number 2 son offered a heartwarming cup of coffee. I was immediately ambushed by a wall of tears and wails. Huge uncontrollable racks of sobs shook my body, all four remaining children, as if on cue jumped to surround me with a big group hug.
"It's ok Mum you still have 4 kids here" says Ritch. Stammering out each anguished word between the painful sobs, I answer with hands outstretched "But.... I.... am....use...to...5!!".
Didn't they get it, I am used to 5 children, 2 adults, a step dog and an independent cat. The house seemed to be smaller, emptier with this one person gone.
I couldn't go to work that day. I sat out on the back porch mostly with the tissue box not far from my side.

This is it, the beginning of the empty nest syndrome. This is what it feels like. I spent years hungrily waiting for them to grow up and get a life of their own. It only seems only like a couple of years ago when I has holding onto his hand, his mop top curly hair and delicious chocolate brown eyes looking up at me. That beautiful cheeky smile eternally etched into my mind. He was 2 then now he is 25. Still just as handsome, but now he has to look down as he towers over me.
14 hours later he rings
"Hey Mum" with the sound of his voice the silent tears begin to fall down my face. Little Miss Mischief runs up with the seemingly bottomless tissue box and holds it out for me.
The trip was a breeze for him, tonight he is staying with his Aunt & Uncle, they are having a special roast dinner as they haven't seen him in a while. I can hear in the background my sister in law fussing over him. I can't help but smile, a smile with an edge of jealousy mixed in.

Each Monday evening at 7.30pm the phone rings, "Hey Mum....." Couple of nights per week we speak on facebook chat. Don't get me wrong I still shed a tear or few each time, I just don't let him know it. The tissue box seem to miraculously appear on the desk.

He got around to reading my manual, apparently while he was waiting for the Internet to be connected and there was nothing on TV to watch. Laughing he mentioned "You should write Mum, you're very funny, laughed my arse off in a few places. That part about googling green vegetables If I couldn't remember what they looked like, that had me rolling on the ground".
This confused me as I didn't write anything deliberately funny.

Christmas time he flew home. I wasn't allowed to go with Drue to pick him up at the airport, due to the embarrassment factor.
In the first few months, Ryan had saved his money, paid his bills and it was the first Christmas he bought presents for everyone, without mum to the rescue. Great gifts too, I was impressed

I might have finally let him go, have the faith in him to live his life well, but he will always be that golden curly haired, olive skinned, dreamy eyed, cheeky smiled little boy to me.