I opened the freezer and burst into tears at what I saw

I had gone to the freezer looking for something else, but there they were – my then 19–year-old son, James’s, Cumberland sausages.

The tears came thick and fast, along with a feeling of emptiness. He’s not here. I’m no longer a mum. What’s the point of me now? He doesn’t need me anymore.

It was September last year and my husband Andrew and I had just returned from a long drive to Edinburgh. Like so many other parents, we’d spent the weekend finding our son’s university lodgings, making the bed, filling his fridge with food, unpacking the clothes and computers and fussing around a chair that wasn’t right, which meant a trip to IKEA. 

All the while, we were dreading the moment when we left the room, knowing he wasn’t coming back with us. I didn’t know how either of us were going to react. Emotions were high.

There had never been any thought that James wouldn’t go to university. He always wanted to, and we had talked about it from an early age. He had worked hard to win a place at university to study for an M.Eng in software engineering, and it was most certainly the right next step in life for him. I was so happy for him, but imagining a life at home without him there was so painful.

Bizarrely, leaving that day was easy. We were all so physically and mentally exhausted by the time he was settled that we all just wanted to sleep. He looked so at home in his room immediately and was eager to get on with his adventure. I felt fine. I told myself that I had probably pre-grieved and my fears about not coping with the change were unfounded.

It wasn’t until Andrew and I were back at home and I saw the sausages in the freezer that the emotions clearly came flooding out of me. 

It’s often referred to as Empty Nest Syndrome, which is defined as the grief, sadness or emotional distress affecting parents whose children have grown up and left home. It is a kind of grief that can creep upon us unexpectedly or grow in magnitude as the days count down before our beloved offspring leave. 

For me, the months leading up to James’ departure were filled with dreams of dread. What if he hated it? Would he be safe? How would he cope? How would I?

Working as a hypnotherapist, and having helped clients through this difficult transition, I knew I needed to put some coping strategies in place to make me psychologically ready for this huge life change. So I made sure that the September he left was filled with work and I took on lots of extra clients to keep me busy. 

On top of that, we discussed dates when we could go and visit James. We arranged contingency plans, such as James returning home and reapplying for a different course/place for if he decided that course or uni were not for him. I wanted him to know that there would be difficult times in the weeks ahead and that would be normal, but if he really was unhappy there was no pressure on him from us to stay.

I mentally rehearsed him being excited and happy in his new home and it being totally normal, then imagined myself feeling happy and content too. I thought I’d cracked it.

So it was a huge shock to find myself sobbing and inconsolable staring at sausages.

In the days and weeks after he was gone, I noticed the house appearing much larger than it had before. I’d see mothers out with little children and be flooded with memories and the pang of realising that those days were gone for me.

I’d wake up in the night listening for his footsteps and remember he wasn’t there. In the kitchen, we soon realised there were mountains of chocolate and pesto. I was still buying it, but he wasn’t there to eat it.

At first, I joined several Facebook groups, which helped connect me with other parents going through the same transition. That was helpful in the early days. We were able to swap stories, commiserate with each other, share tips and offer advice.

James and I chatted a lot about how we both felt and what we wanted this next chapter to look like. And over time we created our new version of our mum and son relationship.

He left on August 31 for his second year and this time I’m calm. He is doing brilliantly at building a new life for himself and I’m a part of it, but in a different way.

He has gone from being someone who couldn’t even use the washing machine to being a diligent, capable young man fully at ease with running his own life – and I’m so proud of his growth. When we visit him now, I always leave with a smile on my face knowing he’s in the right place for him right now and is so at home there.

I asked James if he had thoughts as to what might help students cope in the early days of university life and he said it would be helpful to just give students some time at first to work things out in their new life – even though it feels tough to step back.

He suggested that, as parents, we let them know we are there for them if they need help, but to let them ask in their own time. He says to be reassured that they are thinking of you and look forward to seeing you on Facetime, but to know that sometimes responding to a text or call may be delayed, as they are trying hard to get to grips with their new surroundings and life.  

In his first year, James and I swapped short text messages most days but as the weeks went on I felt it was important to give him space and it was much easier for me to step back knowing he was settling in, safe and happy. 

If you’re about to go through this yourself this year, I’d like you to know that it’s not the end. It’s a new beginning.

Be gentle with yourself in the first weeks and join a supportive, online community to help. You are allowed to feel all the conflicting feelings, and it does get easier.

This past year has been a real voyage of discovery for us both. Him leaving home and living independently for the first time (he loves it) and me learning how to cope with the empty nest.

It gets easier, honestly. In fact, for me the fear was much worse than the reality.

So this year there’ll be no sausage moment. Besides, he’s moved on to burgers.

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