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Motherhood provided me with a pair of children along with a television series (and an offshoot). Initially, as I stepped into this world, it was quite clear it constituted a mad world, and perfect for exploitation. Attempting to locate your tribe while having absolutely nothing in common with other tribespeople, other than babies in the same stage, proves challenging, yet also rich in ideas for comedy.

Over the years, I would jot down little moments or insights that brought a smile: arriving at a children's celebration wearing the same outfit as a father there; observing with surprise when a mother asked an usher to turn the heating up in the auditorium during a class outing to see The Lion King; that parent whose advice for her kids should they become separated in a crowd involved "thinking like a predator" (this was incorporated – after getting approval – during the spooky special of Motherland).

My collection of observations grew into the television series the show, and lately, the newer series. However, now my little inspos have left, and I don’t know how to proceed on my own. They both started uni last week (on different sides of the country). I was dreading this moment, and as a single mum I’m finding it unbearable. Our home has become silent. That room is permanently clean with no trip hazards along the corridor. Both departed. Two for none. It's truly heartbreaking.

The Farewell to My Daughter

My daughter was the first to leave. This was a slick operation. Three hours down the M11 and M25 as she took over the music and whacking me every time she spotted one of those vehicles. We had an appointment to pick up her access, and together we carried her stuff up a couple of flights to her new home; a compact space with the basics: a work surface, seat, sleeping area, storage and noticeboard (minus pins). It was quite clean apart from a cereal piece I noticed in the wardrobe. Once I applied all my God-given strength to get that bedding onto her bed (I ought to have verified this), and removed a large quantity of my garments and cosmetics that she had pilfered out of my room, it was time to say goodbye. The image of her departing (wearing my footwear) struck me deeply.

The actresses in a 2017 episode of Motherland.

Then Came My Son’s Turn

A week later, there was five hours up the M6 with an overnight stop in a fully booked budget hotel filled with emotional families in similar situations. Campus was rammed with packed cars containing duvets, kitchen gadgets and nervous scholars attempting earnestly to mask their anxiety. I failed to learn my lesson from the previous week and nearly fainted, straining like giving birth to place another single sheet on a further small double mattress. Also forgot those pins. I wished to avoid to cramp my son’s style by hanging around, saying hello those nearby, thus we shared a solid hug and I managed to sneak in a kiss on his cheek without inflicting any discomfort to him at all. He gestured, then vanished inside his residence, rattling his keys as if purchasing his initial home.

While departing, there were a bunch of students holding banners from their various societies stating phrases such as BEEP FOR NETBALL and HONK FOR WATERSPORTS, so I sounded the horn and they applauded and I wept during much of the journey back to my house without anyone to pass me a salt and vinegar Disco.

Dealing With the Emptiness While Looking Ahead

When I got home, my eyes had dried up. I felt utterly bereft, then when I turned on the hall light and its light came loose of the socket and the feline entered and regurgitated a tiny snout with a tail. I walked the dog to the drugstore that day to obtain his emergency medication for his lobster allergy. (Although I'm confident he will succeed in steering clear in the coming time). That stroll took me past the kids’ old primary school. The noise from the young pupils having fun outside started me off again and I struggled to steady myself as I said my son’s name, getting his medicine.

I owe so much to my children. The show wouldn't be without them. During the initial Motherland Christmas special, a character tries the game (said as Mein-Kraft) to determine whether it's appropriate for his daughters. I got most of his dialogue from my boy and his experience of having his homestead set on fire and animals taken by his so-called friend. I aspire this new phase of parenting will provide another wave of stories I may utilize in my writing, although it seems things calm down. The mums sign up in craft classes while the dads have their midlife crises.

Apparently, the chef wore his son’s underpants after he dropped him off for the first time. I feel sorrow but I think I'm okay avoiding their undergarments. Exist community help and counsellors focused on empty nest syndrome however I've enrolled for netball on Tuesdays and Thursdays and I’m going to tidy thoroughly of the house ready for when they’re back for Christmas. I trust they bring home ample inspiration!

• Helen Serafinowicz is a writer and television producer.