Ode to Mirna

Coping with an Empty Nest—By Filling It

by Maryanne Soper

I stared down at the bird’s nest that lay nestled in my cupped hand. Expertly crafted from twigs, shredded evergreens, and stray tinsel strands shed by our departing Christmas tree, it had been woven into the top of the wreath that adorned our front door. Throughout the spring, it sheltered a house finch as she cared for her solitary egg. For months we avoided using our front door, but just last week we were rewarded with the sight of that little bird gobbling down a worm. Their nest, now abandoned, seemed to symbolize all the emotions coming to a crescendo in my life.

Our younger daughter, Julia, had just graduated from high school. Within a few weeks she would head off on her first solo adventure—a year’s cultural exchange in Siberia. Shortly, we too would become “empty nesters.” Julia exuded excitement and an eagerness for independence. I coped with her fast-approaching departure by busying myself with last-minute preparations, pushing aside all thoughts of how much I would miss her.

The night before Julia flew out of JFK Airport, I stood in our family room amidst a mountain of clothes, books, and toiletries as they were crammed into two relatively small suitcases. The independence that had propelled her to this point suddenly evaporated as she sought last-minute items: her passport, her exchange program blazer, her Rotary badge. The next afternoon, buoyed by a heady mixture of caffeine, adrenaline, and sleep deprivation, we waved her off. Julia and her red blazer and passport (we never did find the Rotary badge) disappeared through the security checkpoint and onto the waiting plane.

Finally, my husband and I faced reality—we were now “empty nesters” after 20 years of parenthood. This reality was immediately overshadowed by another realization: that within 48 hours, a 16-year-old girl from Croatia would move into our daughter’s now “trashed” bedroom. We had our work cut out for us.

The World of "New"

Two days and one transformed bedroom later, my husband and I greeted Mirna, “our Croatian daughter,” and began our own adventure. I quickly realized that although I now had a backseat in my own daughter’s life, I had also been offered a front-row seat in Mirna’s. Together we navigated the tangled corridors of her labyrinthine high school, puzzled through homework assignments, and chose from a seemingly endless roster of extracurricular activities. I marveled with her as she mastered the intricacies of American football and savored her first Philly cheese steak. She discovered that the neighbors who were holding a weekend garage sale weren’t actually selling their garage, after all. We bonded.

From the start, I introduced Mirna as “our Croatian daughter,” and she found her own niche in our family. She slipped into our family’s rhythm, learned our habits, and adopted us as her own. So, when she approached us about a month into her stay and asked if she could call us “Mom” and “Dad,” it felt natural. Mirna began to behave more like an American teen. She began to sound like an American. Sometimes, when I received a midafternoon call on my cell phone, it would take me a moment to figure out if the call was from Mirna or my own daughter Julia in Russia.

From the start, I admired Mirna’s ability to enter a room full of strangers as if it were filled with future friends. She had a disarming way of walking up to a person she’d never met, extending her hand, and saying, “Hi, I’m Mirna.” We quickly learned that Mirna could connect with 5-year-olds. She connected with 70-year-olds. She connected with just about everybody. So when I called her cell phone one day and was greeted by the voice message, “Hi, this is Mirna—best exchange student ever,” it fit.

The Holidays
The holidays are especially hard for a newly empty-nesting home. But Mirna’s excitement at every new holiday was infectious. Before we knew it, Halloween came and went in a flurry of costume parties. Thanksgiving passed in a blur. Christmas was a special challenge for us, missing our Julia, and for Mirna, who loved Christmas with her friends and extended family. Angela, our older daughter, returned home from college just in time to help out with the holiday preparations. I probably went overboard, scheduling holiday excursions, cooking sessions, and decorating sprees in the hope that we would miss our absent loved ones a little less.

Mirna and Angela both pitched in as we baked for friends, cooked special items for my mom, and tackled our shopping lists. Mirna’s Christmas traditions and ours blended, making the holiday a hybrid of festivities unlike any we’d ever seen. To cap it all off, we hosted a dinner for our daughter Julia’s friends who were visiting from Moscow: 14 people speaking 3 languages (but only a few understanding English). We spoke a little, moved our hands a lot, and nodded our heads—all in all, a hilarious exercise in cross-cultural communication.

A Life of Exchange
Just before Mirna left our home to live with her second host family, she asked if we would take an exchange student the following year. My immediate response to her was, “We’ve already had the best. Anyone after you will seem like a letdown.” But I wondered, “What would it be like to host students year after year?”

I got a little window on this world when Mirna and I visited Carl and Jan, a couple who had hosted both Mirna’s cousin and brother when they were on exchange. They had known Mirna since she was a baby and had visited her home many times. A pastor and retired schoolteacher, this energetic couple had hosted countless students over the years. A large floor-to-ceiling map hanging in their hallway sagged under the weight of Rotary pins collected from students they had hosted or countries they had visited during their time in international youth exchange. They were spending their empty-nesting years forging friendships that spanned generations, languages, and cultures. I was intrigued, but that is a decision for a future day.

The Adventure Continues
The bird’s nest in my hand is a lovely tribute to that house finch’s love for her baby, but both mother and baby have now flown on to new adventures. The same is true for us. Mirna is in California, seeing as much of the United States as she can before returning home to Croatia. Her parents will surely be excited to see her and will marvel at how she has changed.

In a few days, we ourselves will welcome Julia home. We are told that she now speaks Russian, with only a slight accent, but has trouble finding words in English. Not long after she returns, Julia will head off to college, her next adventure. My husband and I have our own adventures planned, including a trip to Russia (and perhaps Croatia) in the near future. What an exciting start to this new season in our lives!

Maryanne Soper holds a B.A. in English from Immaculata University, an M.A. in Anglo-Irish Literature from the National University of Ireland (Galway), and an M.A.C. from the Annenberg School of Communications at the University of Pennsylvania. A freelance writer and editor, she has also been an adjunct faculty member in Literature/Writing at Immaculata University and Gwynedd Mercy College. In addition, she has served on the boards of the Society for Scholarly Publishing, the Philadelphia-Montgomery Christian Academy (Erdenheim, Pennsylvania), and the American Academy (Conshohocken, Pennsylvania). She, her husband Keith, daughters Angela and Julia (when they’re home), and their standard poodle, Asta, live in Maple Glen, Pennsylvania. When she's not enjoying whatever snippets of time she can steal with daughters, Maryanne is exploring new ways to cope with their leave-taking.