What’s Next or What Now?
An empty nest. A winding driveway. The answer brings up the next question—until we can let it go.
Read or listen… a lot of questions and answers. Find your own.
The birds are gone. They left as suddenly as they arrived. I keep looking out the door at the empty nest to see if the little birdies will return.
I ask my sweet wife whether we should clean it up. I even consider whether I should move the nest, and wonder whether the birds would remember if they returned someday.
I think about my own life and my little ones inside. They’re kind of sad. I thought I had dealt with that one already.
I hear my mom chirping in the background. No, not really chirping—more like screaming, “I’m going to die. Help me. Help me!”
I came to her rescue but I left my little ones behind—inside. I spoke softly from my heart. I was just a kid. No one was there for me.
The image changes to my mom’s hospital bed. I'm an adult… a therapist. I'm still talking softly, reading to her like she used to read to me when I was sick.
I can't rescue her. She was already gone but her body was still there. Now the nest is empty… and she isn't coming back.
The reality sinks in. I leave and return to my nest, my home in Vermont—with my wife and two precious birdies awaiting.
I look at the picture again. I’m at my home on Blissville Road. No kidding, that’s where I live now. My kids are both grown up with families of their own. Three little birdies—one far away across the ocean.
I think about my mom and others I’ve lost living here with me. But then they’re gone.
I wonder if I should leave the nest there just in case, so they can find their way back. Maybe I need it there for myself, so I’ll remember when my time arrives.
Which direction do I go on my circular driveway? I think I’ll keep moving forward, whichever way I go. And when I look back, I’ll know who I was… and who I am now.
That’s where I want to live. But it’s still nice to have unexpected visitors from the past from time to time.
That’s what’s next. No… it’s happening now and who we’re becoming. They still live in my heart—and, like many of you, I'm grateful that we’re on this journey together.
You never know what will happen next in the light of invisibility.
At least it’s assuring to know that it’s happening now. That's just who I am—the person and therapist I was always meant to be.
I guess it’s time to say goodbye. Maybe it’s in the stars, but I feel it in my heart.
Gentle reminder: This piece continues a story that began in Renewal. Circle back if it feels right.
Gratitude: With appreciation for those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine in return.
Confidentiality note: This piece was inspired by someone close to my heart, but is a composite of many people I know—inside and outside of therapy. Any resemblance to your own life or our shared experience is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? You’re welcome to reach me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close… or long to be closer to.
About me: Besides being a writer, Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated experiential model called Core Self Integration Therapy (CSIT)—grounded in our capacity for adaptive change—to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma. Some refer to it as Elephant Work.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility—bringing life to therapy and therapy to life.