A Wife's Tale - March 2026

It was lunchtime on a bright summer’s day. I was sitting in my parked car, sobbing empty-nest tears. My heart was hurting. I called Shaun.

“She leaves in a week,” I managed to say.

“Oh,” he replied nonchalantly. “That’s soon, aye.”

He was out on a fence line. I could tell he was busy. This wasn’t a priority for him.

Our second child was about to leave home. We were about to become empty nesters. A home that is empty.

Empty.

(Adjective) containing nothing; not filled or occupied; lacking meaning.

(Verb) to become void of its contents.

This was how my heart was feeling, sitting in the hot and busy car park. Empty. Lacking.

But this was not my first rodeo. Our son had left home two years earlier. I had felt this grief before. I remember the day he left to head over the ditch. As Shaun and I drove him to the airport, the zipper to my heart was slowly undoing, spilling out what I had tried to conceal – tried to hide from him so as not to take away from his excitement. Shaun was doing a much better job at that than I was. In fact, it didn’t look like he was that upset at all.

Man hug at the departure gate. Pat on the back. “Have a good time, son.”

As our firstborn walked away from us towards the departure gate, the symbolism of a child beginning their adult life could not have been more obvious.

I stood there sobbing and felt Shaun wrap his (quite handsome, I must say) arms around me, and I noticed something in the too-tightness of that hug. I realised then that this was big for him too. They had worked as fencers together, hunted together, best-friended together. His loss was different from mine, and he showed it differently, but I realised it wasn’t any less.

And now we were doing it all again – this time with our daughter.

We are close to her too. Unusually, we never had any teenage girl issues. She’s just so… cool. And so fun (carpool karaoke at the top of our lungs), and helpful (grocery dates, unpack it all and then offer to cook dinner), with a smile that warms anyone’s bad day. She’s also got sass and won’t fake it to be polite, which is an essence within her that we adore and encourage. Patrick Swayze would be proud, because “nobody puts [my] Baby in the corner.”

The day she left was like déjà vu. Dropping her at the airport, standing at the departure gate sobbing, Shaun wrapping his (still very handsome) arms around me – and again, the too-tightness was there. He was sad too.

Raising good humans was my main priority, and our fencing business (and my other career choices) allowed Shaun and me the opportunity to spend a lot of time with our kids – to build connection. Yes, we own a business. Yes, it is stressful. Yes, at times cash flow requires us to work a lot. But we always tried to prioritise family. Not just attending sports days at school, but the important things — not working nights, eating dinner together at the table, being there for them on their bad days. We will always find a reason to do more work, but spending time with our kids is time I will never regret.

And now, as our job is done, the grief of losing such wonderful humans from our daily lives is hard.

My coping strategy is to eat cheese. Feta makes you feel better.

And, to remember that our nest, our home, is not empty (containing nothing or lacking meaning). We are just making new meanings together and rebuilding the contents – perhaps with more farm animals.

I can feel a new puppy might be on the horizon...

Written by Angelena Davies

Angelena Davies is a wife and mum who happens to have a Masters degree in Social Sciences. Alongside running Davies Fencing she is also a coach, facilitator and author helping children and adults to access “flow” so their lives are easier and more fun.

Published in WIRED issue 80/March 2026 by Fencing Contractors Association NZ

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