Illustration by Alex Siklos
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Last June, a robin built a nest atop an outdoor lamp on my back deck. The nest then sat empty for more than a week. As the days passed, the nest’s emptiness made me uneasy and stirred a sense of loss.
Until one morning, I stepped outside and saw the robin sitting on the nest. That day, she left and returned from morning to night. A few days later, she sat on the nest all day and remained in place for three days and nights.
On the fourth day, she started taking short breaks. She’d fly to a nearby birch tree and perch on the lower branches. During one of the robin’s break, I gingerly used a mirror to peer into her nest. I could see the reflection of three perfect blue eggs cradled at the bottom. In the evening, the robin returned to resume her quiet, constant wait on the nestled eggs.
Two mornings later, I stepped out onto the deck and immediately noticed bird droppings and small feathers on the ground. The robin was nowhere to be seen.
As the day went on without the robin’s reappearance, I began to worry. I searched online about robins and their nesting habits. Do robins leave eggs unattended? Could this be normal to have a nest with eggs and no bird? Yes, it could, I learned. Bird experts advise that one should leave a nest with eggs alone as the mother may return two to four weeks later to begin incubation.
That evening, I used the mirror again: The three perfect eggs remained.
Encouraged by the bird experts’ advice, I left the nest and waited. But I also wondered and worried. Would the robin return? What would happen to the eggs?
In time, my waiting and worrying began to feel quite personal and poignantly familiar. This nest with three eggs and no mother reminded me how I’d wanted to be a mother with three children. During the many years I hoped and tried, I waited and worried.
Each morning, I checked for the robin’s return. During the third week, I began to feel strongly that these eggs were not going to bring life. They’d be forever unhatched (...ah yes, dare I write it – like my own eggs).
For over five weeks, I waited for the robin. She didn’t return. So, I decided to bury the eggs, return them to nature.
That evening, when I went to find them, I carefully lifted the nest down off the lamp. Looking in, I saw that the eggs were gone. No broken shells. No sign that eggs had ever sat there.
I placed the nest on a garden stone and felt sad about its emptiness. Then, looking at the delicate yet sturdy creation, I marvelled. A robin had incredibly and intricately woven grasses and twigs together to create this home for her eggs, to raise her baby birds. And, though the nest was empty, it was beautiful, too.
Later in bed, I thought about the nest. Its emptiness and beauty moved me still. I realized why. My home, heart and life are like that nest. I created a warm home and opened my heart, anticipating my own little ones. When we don’t have children, it is left to us to fill our lives in other ways. And my life feels incredibly woven, though empty of little ones.
As beautiful as the empty nest is, I felt that it needed to be full. So the next morning, I filled it with roses, snapdragons, begonia and sprigs of lavender. A beautiful nest filled with more beauty. Nothing empty about it.
Like the robin’s nest now full, I enrich my home and life as best I can, with art, music, books, playful dogs, gardens, nature, with the laughter of friends and loved ones, with comfort, lightness, and open windows with views of the morning sun and the night sky, and the sounds of songbirds who return every day.
No more thoughts of empty nests for me.
Susan Fancy lives in Barrie, Ont.