My three year old boy, ran in from playing outside with his brothers. He clambered on my lap with his cowboy hat and toy gun and started to nurse. I was a strong proponent of self-weaning. He suddenly stopped, sat up on my lap and announced, "I am a big boy now" and pushed my breast away, he had chosen to move on in his life. This was my last child, an era had come to an expected close, and that special time was over for ever.
The next closure was when the last child left home for good. I felt relieved, on the one hand, that my mothering duties were over, but tearful for the close of another era in my life. All three boys had left for another province, because of the need for work, so it was hard to accept that I would not see them very often.
After the boys all left home we sold the house. It was too large for just the two of us, and we chose to move to a small retirement village in northern Canada. I did not find it hard to move, the house echoed with voices now far away, and it was time for us to go. We have been here now for three years, and I like the area and am happy to be here. My husband who is a young sixty-eight is content to fish and mess about in his work shop, and I am pleased he is finding his retirement rewarding.
However, I am only fifty-nine years old and most of our new friends are, at the very least, fifteen years older than I am. It seems the phone only rings because someone is dying or is already dead. In an age when, God willing, I could live another forty years, I am beginning to wonder if this is the end, and I have been tempted to become depressed. However on reading the book of Job I am reminded that God always has a plan, and I just have to wait until He shows me the next stage. Maybe His plan is that I learn patience.
There is a biblical promise that says "Your future will be brighter by far than your past" so I am banking on that.