Families: Empty The Nest? Ha!

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Elaine Williamson's three offspring, all in their 30s, are long gone from the family's New York City apartment. They're settled in homes around the country, married, with children of their own. So, why, Elaine wants to know, is her home still jammed with Ann's childhood books; Elizabeth's bridesmaid's dresses; and Jim's surfboard, bicycle and shoes? Has she ever asked them to take these things? Williamson, a science teacher, laughs: "All the time!"

This tug-of-war between generations over stuff and space is being played out by countless families across the country. Some believe it's merely a nuisance or a practical storage problem, but usually far more is at stake. Whether perceived as old junk or saved treasure, remnants of childhood carry a symbolic freight that transmutes over time as the "children" move into different phases of their lives.

For new college graduates, leaving things behind can be their way of saying, "Don't forget me." For older adults, finally reclaiming them can mean "I've arrived." Many parents, though, expect that when their newly minted grownups set up their first apartment or house, they will remove their belongings, releasing a room or at least a closet. Good luck.

"This idea of 'launching' our children is a purely American concept," notes psychologist Pauline Boss, author of Ambiguous Loss. "We don't really launch our kids, as if into outer space: they stay connected. Now that kids often move far away," she adds, "leaving stuff with parents can be an unconscious way to maintain their roots."

Knowing it's all still there brings comfort to many a wanderer. Matt McGowan, 24, who works in a digital-publishing company in San Francisco, can fondly picture his possessions back in New York City, including his collections of baseball cards and comics and "a pair of beaten-up, dried-out track shoes I'd never throw away. The stuff instills that feeling that it's still your home."

It's hard to overestimate the symbolic importance of these childhood belongings and the bedrooms in which they often still reside. To young adults moving into an uncertain world, these things represent security. If their parents sell the house out from under them, they may feel betrayed. Anne Braden Moon, 23, an M.B.A. student in Memphis, Tenn., remembers her bedroom as a sanctuary: "It had all my awards and stuffed animals, and the chair my parents rocked me in when I was a baby." She felt devastated when her family moved to another house after her college graduation.

Children may also react negatively if the room remains but has been stripped of their presence. Two years after Dena Cowan Klapperich, 37, a clinical psychologist in Lindenhurst, Ill., had left home to live with her boyfriend, her mother, U.C. Berkeley psychologist Carolyn Cowan, converted Dena's old room to an office. "The first time she came over after that, she couldn't walk in there," Cowan recalls.

The feeling of being "shunted aside or pushed out" when the room is taken over is common, notes Sara Moss Herz, a psychologist in Westport, Conn.--even for children embarked on independent lives. "There's still that fantasy that you can go back and do it right," she explains. "If there's an office or guest room there, that's pretty concrete evidence that life has moved on."