I've been so involved in motherhood for most of my life that I hardly noticed when it ended. Oh, there was the year when our first bird left the nest, just an hour away to go to college. This was a new experience and so she stayed at the girls’ dorm. I recall passing her bedroom each day, and I'd look in at her stuffed animals scattered about her colorful bedspread, her band jacket hanging in the closet, and little pieces of memories on her dresser. By the time I got to the piano in the living room, the tears were really falling. Then I'd eagerly wait for her last class of the day to be over and call her!

We had two more at home and actively involved in their lives at school, church, and in community functions, so I hardly noticed when the second one left, as he lived in the area and came often for meals. We were so busy and the changes were slight at that point.

Two years later when our youngest left, I packed to go with him! His school was three hours away. When we could no longer stand it, my hubby and I would take a drive on a Sunday afternoon and go see him. We would spend a couple of hours visiting, always ending up with a nice dinner, where he would get a good balanced meal. Then I'd hug him good-bye and cry all the way home.

During the week, I'd drive by the ball field where we had spent so much time watching the boys play; my heart would ache for a rerun of those years. All the schools they attended were scattered throughout town, and I'd see kids going to the 8th-grade dance, as ours had once done, the parades, and sports activities. Who said "You Can Never Go Home Again?" I'd welcome them all back in a minute, but I knew that wasn't how things were to be.

Another season passed, and our daughter was engaged and planning her wedding. There were things to do, places to go, and decisions to be made. It was a busy time. The nest was empty, but the activities were keeping me going—it was an exciting and happy time.

It hit me one afternoon when I went into my OB/GYN's office for my yearly checkup. I looked around the room, where mothers-in-waiting were seated; their world was just beginning. Mine, I felt, was taking another turn. Hadn't it just been me sitting in this office, awaiting, first, the birth of our daughter, now soon to be married, and soon after the boys? Where had the years gone? I headed for the bathroom and turned on the water in the sink and started to sob!

I knew this was a mere interruption in the pattern of things, but raising my children was the most important job I'd had in my life—why did it hurt so much? I knew friends who were starting new careers and many had jobs they were still at. But my job had been my husband and children. What would my life be now?

I splashed some water on my face and wiped my eyes, and then I went back to take my seat with the young mothers. Why couldn't they have a separate room for us menopausal women? Don't they know how hard it is to sit and look and be reminded of the days when our stomachs were huge!

When I got in to see my doctor, I made this suggestion openly to him. He prescribed hormone replacement, some brisk walking, and for me to "get a life." I told him I'd had one and always would...my children! I got a lecture, a prescription for estrogen, and a sample of Prozac tablets.

That was several years ago. Today I'm doing the work I enjoyed before our children came along and that I placed on hold for those wonderful years. I also have three darling granddaughters, and what a blessing they are to me...as we watch our children grow into happy responsible adults.

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