My thoughts on a page.

This day next week my youngest will turn sixteen. As I ponder where the years have gone I was reminded of this post I wrote a few years ago.

When the last door closes.

Last night was a night like any other. There was no sign. No warning.
We said ‘Goodnight’ and off she went, with the usual kiss and a hug.
My twelve year old baby, now as tall as myself.

I sat a while longer enjoying the peace, and a glass of wine. Eventually I called it a day, and climbed the stairs. And there it was, as I reached the landing…

The closed door.

I’m sure reading this you may be puzzled as to what you missed. What’s was wrong with a closed bedroom door?

Please let me explain.

For twenty three years I have climbed my stairs and without fail I have entered my sleeping children’s bedrooms,
to whisper a silent goodnight.

When they were young babies I tiptoed in, to gaze just once more on that tiny being. To experience once more before I slept, that skip of my heart, as I leaned forward, kissed their forehead, inhaled their baby smell and fell in love all over again.

There were nights I opened those doors, holding my breath to hear that they were breathing. There were nights I opened those door many times to a screaming child refusing to sleep.

There were nights I opened those doors to be met by a child lying wide awake.
Upset after a bad dream, or fretting with a childhood worry which a hug and a snuggle gladly given, seemed to cure.

The years have rolled by and one by one the doors have closed, until there was just one left.

Until tonight.

I suppose if I am honest I had seen it coming. The bedroom toys were gone,
a good night story no longer wanted and the light outside the door switched off.

The owner of this door is maturing fast and leaving her childhood behind.
She speaks, looks and acts like a teenager,
but to me, she will forever be my baby.

So perhaps now you can understand,
what that closed door meant to me?

Tonight as I climb the stairs and see that closed door, a small part of me will mourn its passing.

However as that door closes I know that a whole new world is opening up for my daughter. An exciting world of independence and freedom. A world of friends, makeup and boyfriends. The world of a teenager.

Then out of the blue a thought strikes me and I feel ashamed of my sadness.
I think of Daniel and young Ben and the bedroom doors their parents face.

I get a grip and  I give thanks.

Thanks that it was in fact she and not I who closed that door and that beyond it my child still sleeps.

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