Katie Samol | The Chronicle
I have been the lonely bird in the nest for a little over a year now.
Let me explain myself. I am the youngest of three kids. My older brother Noah is five years older than me, and my sister Abby is three years older. Three autumns ago, my brother went off to college for the very first time. One year ago, my sister left for her freshman year, too. My parents are not empty nesters yet; I am the last chick remaining.
As months turned to weeks, and weeks turned to days until my siblings left, I imagined the negatives of their absence. What would school be like without them? What were family dinners going to feel like? What would become of sweet treat runs, late-night drives and laughing at videos together until our bellies hurt? I had no idea.
“If parents are the fixed stars in the child’s universe, the vaguely understood, distant but constant celestial spheres, siblings are the dazzling, sometimes scorching comets nearby,” wrote Alison Gopnik, a developmental psychologist.
I definitely found my siblings dazzling, as many younger siblings do. But what happens when their orbit pulls them further away? I found part of my identity in being Noah and Abby’s sister, but I had to forge my own path without them by my side.
The majority of the time I will spend with my siblings in my life has more than likely already passed. Every day for 13 years and every day for 15 years? Time with my siblings like that can never again be replicated. All of this and more loomed on my mind as their move-in dates approached.
But as time passed, unexpected positives began to hatch. When people asked me what life was like as an “only child,” I always began with gratitude for my parents, whom I genuinely enjoy spending time with. If I did not value quality time with them, I think the transition from full nest to lonely bird would have been much bumpier.
A few weeks ago, as I was eating dinner, my Mom sitting across from me and my Dad to my left, I realized I would spend more one-on-one time with my parents than either of my siblings ever have or will. With three kids in the house, and even when there were two, one-on-one moments with our parents were few and far between.
“Double-parent-wake-up!” Mom and Dad would joke on mornings when I was younger, when they were both home with just me. Now, one-on-one conversations and dinners with just the three of us have become the norm. Through this, my parents have become less distant and less vaguely understood to me.
When my siblings are home, time with them holds a much higher value. I prize the periods when Noah or Abby is home, and when all three of us are home together, it feels like a superhero team uniting for the first time in ages. A few days around Thanksgiving, Christmas break and a couple of weeks in August. Those tend to be our Avengers moments.
Because “Avengers moments” are precious, we are all much more present and intentional about how we spend our days. These periods remind me of how grateful I should be for my siblings and our relationship. What became of sweet treat runs, late-night drives, and laughing at videos together until our bellies hurt? Rather than routine, they became gifts to remember.
I may be the lonely bird most of the time, but that makes a full nest – however infrequent or brief – that much more special. That much more prized. That much more worthy of gratitude.
