The thought of an empty nest fills me with dread It helped that I liked Edinburgh; but I still felt needed - to help set him up in a flat, shift his stuff around, scoop him up at the end of term. And occasionally, later on, to extricate his brothers from messes. One son had been living with his girlfriend. When they split up, both I and her parents had to be there to oversee the splitting up and moving out of their respective possessions. Not an experience I'd want to repeat. And even if I did worry terribly about the oldest in that first year away, I gradually got used to that and trusted him. So with his brothers, I tended to worry less when they didn't get in touch for weeks on end, until they wanted money. I somehow ceased to be so concerned, and even told myself it was a good thing. I was proud that they were managing, more or less, to be independent, and anyway you can't be worrying all the time, or reminding them not to go jumping off bridges into the river. They're grown ups. Somewhere in the back of my mind was also the memory of myself going away to university and forgetting to ring home. Yes, I know that they have mobile phones now, so there is no more queuing up for the single telephone kiosk next to the college bar. And the good thing about mobile phones is that I can text them if I am really worried about how long it is since they last called. It may just be me, but I didn't anticipate as a parent this current feeling of dread. I think of living with empty bedrooms (they were too old for custody arrangements when my marriage ended, so they go to whichever of us they want) and worry I have a crisis coming on. I know, of course I know, that you can't keep their rooms as shrines. I have a friend, who is 50, like me, and whose mother still preserves her bedroom just as she left it the day she went off to university, Bay City Rollers posters and all. And my friend finds that a pressure and a reason to stay away. So I'm not intending to leave Sam's books and paintings just as they have been this last year he's spent with me, but you can equally go too far in the other direction. I remember returning home from college to find that my parents had taken advantage of my absence to pack away all my Airfix models, I felt as if I was being written out of the story. So where exactly is the balance? And should I nurture any thoughts about the other two following in their older brother's footsteps and coming back home with me for a while when they have their degrees? Part of me hopes they will, despite hearing more and more other parents moaning that they fear they will never get rid of their children from under their roofs. With the job market the way it is now, it isn't such an unlikely scenario. But that may just be me wanting to put off dealing with the finality of them going, leaving me utterly bereft. Best, instead, to concentrate on the positives. It will be cheaper. When they are back at home, I don't charge them rent and I feed them. I'll be needing fewer groceries and doing less cooking. And them moving out is, I believe, the start of having an adult relationship with your children. I'd thought that when my oldest son came back to live with me after university, it would be much more like two equals, but I still found myself squabbling with him over washing the dishes. As long as children are in the nest, even when they are 24, they have no real interest in living with you on equal terms. They have to leave to achieve that. But I'm still not convinced that this watershed moment is going to turn out for the best. I'm at heart one of those people who likes communal living. I used to be a housemaster at the boarding school where I am still head of art history, so there would be another 50 boys around, as well as my own sons. And now there is just me. I'm officially On My Own. I worry that means I am going to start talking to myself. It's too early for that, surely? Or watch too much TV. I don't even have one now. The time that will be hardest will be when I come back from my studio or the school. I'm used to there being children and lights and voices to greet me. It was one of my favourite times of day. And now there will be darkness and emptiness and silence. I am going to put on a brave face, don't worry. And I know I have got to get into a different mindset. The question is how. Three days is not much time left to find the answer. David Kirk is represented by the Goldmark Gallery (goldmarkart.com). He was talking to Peter Stanford