Kim Wilbanks

Tethered — fastened or confined as with a rope

Untethered — the opposite

A woman is sitting in a rowboat on a lake. She is a few yards away from a dock. On that dock is a rope. One end is secured to the dock, and the other end dangles into the water. The boat used to be secured to the dock, but it is no longer. It’s drifting.

There is a path from the dock leading up to a red brick house. The woman in the boat gazes at the house. She has known it for most of her life. She wishes she could get back to the house, but she is stuck in the boat, too far from the shore and too far from the dock. She wishes she could go back to the house with the people she loved and the memories stored up inside, but she can’t.

Now and then, she turns and looks across the lake to the other shore. She knows that on the other side are people she loves, but it’s different and even a little scary to think about the expanse between them. So, she turns and gazes back at the red brick house and the dock with the rope dangling in the water.

One day, something changes. The woman glances down and notices a set of oars in the boat’s bottom. She picks them up and attaches them to the sides of the rowboat. She looks to the shore, then the dock, knowing she could row to either and get back to the red brick house. But she feels a stirring in her heart, a memory of children’s giggles. She is determined.

The woman picks up the oars and dips them into the water. She points the boat towards the other shore and begins rowing. As the red brick house on the shore she is facing gets smaller and smaller, she notices her surroundings. She sees an apricot teddy bear of a dog sitting at the bottom of the boat at her feet. Then, she feels a slight nudge at her side and looks over to see her husband sitting beside her. He’s been there all along, even through the stormy summer; she was just too preoccupied to notice.

When she looks to the shore, she sees friends, some she has known for years and some not as long, waving to her, some blowing kisses. Behind her, she hears the distant giggles of two little boys.

The woman continues rowing towards the other shore, away from everything she has ever known. She’s apprehensive about the journey, but she has her husband beside her and her teddy bear of a dog at her feet. More importantly, she senses God and realizes He has been with her in every single moment leading up to this one. He put her heart’s desire within her, and now He is fulfilling it. 

She does not know what it will be like on the other side of the lake, only that it will be different. But she is at peace and ready for the adventure.

If you haven’t guessed, the woman in the boat is me. I started feeling this sense of being untethered when my mom died in July 2023, a little over a year after my dad.

My two children live in different states, hours away from me. I lived one street over from my mom. While she was extremely independent and did not need my help, it felt good to be close by. She was a daily connection. Something happened after she died. With my parents gone and my kids so far away, I felt like I lost my purpose. I was drifting.

Right about the time I lost my dad and then my mom, my husband and I gained two grandsons. We had managed living far from our kids with frequent visits, but things changed with the arrival of grandchildren. I ached with longing to spend more time with them, to be a part of their lives. Our connection to our hometown was shrinking, so we moved just south of Nashville, Tennessee, to be closer to our kids and grandkids. We have spent one month in our new house and celebrated our first family get-together for Christmas. It’s the beginning of one more grand adventure.

How about you? Have you ever felt like you were drifting? Untethered? Have you experienced a major life change in your empty nest years? (We have met several people here who also moved to be closer to their grandchildren) I’d love to hear.