Just Empty Nesting

"Every time something ends, something else begins...we just don't realize it." That's just the latest old saying meant to make me feel better about my life change. In one night, my son graduated school and went straight into his new life---leaving me behind. Of course he left me behind. I did my job. Mission accomplished. Childhood ends and adulthood begins. Baby birds grow up and leave the nest. That's how it is supposed to be. But what happens to Momma Bird?
I gotta admit, as Momma Bird I'm a bit lost. I loved staying home raising my son. It was my 'calling.' I had been an RN and motherhood seemed to be the next logical step. But after having a child in school for twelve years, I'm no longer putting anybody on a school bus. I'm the parent of a graduate, not a student. Making pancakes for breakfast and packing lunch is no longer in my job description. As matter of fact, there is no longer a job requiring a description. Living arrangements have changed, too. "Our house" is now "Mom's house" and I'm actually required to knock on the front door of my "son's house"! Outrageous!
Children grow up while you're not looking. They mature behind your back. They get opinions and feelings, dreams and ambitions all their own. Roles change. But it happens too damn fast! Grown and gone. 
I'm just in a transitional phase but I need somebody to spoil. I'm used to having big dinners complete with bread, steak, mashed potatoes, greens, corn, beans, deviled eggs, sweet tea and such. There's supposed to be knives, spoons and forks clanking against plates with the ever-present danger that a full glass of something will hit the floor, not this deafening silence and a table set for one.
I'm being silly. I'm reaching out to the universe hoping for a couple of understanding ears. One day soon, this voyage into self-pity will end. I'll resume my nursing career and continue to write for publication, stop talking to the dog and start talking to people again. I'll focus on myself and it won't seem selfish. I'll reach the final stage of grief--acceptance--and laugh about what I've just written. It won't be today but soon.