Between Beginnings and Goodbyes: The Bittersweet Season of Motherhood

On teenagers, new babies, and the strange middle ground of motherhood

+JMJ+ I’m in a strange season of life that I don’t often hear about. It’s the moment when you find yourself holding a newborn in your arms while watching another child stand on the edge of adulthood. It’s realizing your parents are now the age your grandparents once were. It’s the quiet awareness that while new life is beginning, other chapters of life are slowly preparing to close.

One of the hardest parts of parenting teenagers is realizing you can’t fix their “boo-boos” the way you once did.

When they were little, a hug, a kiss, a compassionate “Awww, my sweet baby!” and a bandage could fix almost anything. Things like a scraped knee, a bumped head, a hurt feeling after a sibling disagreement felt big to them, but they were usually simple for us to mend. As parents, we could step in quickly and make it

better.

The teenage years are different. The hurts are often deeper and more complicated (at least in their minds). Sometimes there is nothing we can do except sit beside them and walk through it with them.

Watching our children struggle is difficult even when they are dealing with things that seem small or dramatic from an adult perspective. Maybe it’s the crush who doesn’t notice them back, annoyance with the subject they absolutely cannot stand, or maybe it’s the growing pains teenagers go through as their bodies and minds change and the outside world looms before them.

We want so badly to say, “It will be okay. This will pass.” In many cases, we know it will.

Regardless of the issue, heartbreak is heartbreak, and their struggles are real to them. So instead of trying to fix it, we learn to accompany them. We sit with them as they talk about their crushes and their broken hearts. We listen as they dream out loud about their future—what they might do for work, the kind of life they want to build, the families they hope to have, or whether they feel called to the priesthood or religious life. We talk a lot about what it means to live as a Catholic in a world that does not always value the things we believe in.

We help them sort through the confusion and the questions. We let them talk, even when it sounds dramatic or even a little unhinged. Then we hold them, pray with them, and remind them to bring it all to God. We encourage them to ask their favorite saints for help, and we remind them that God cares about the big things and the small things alike.

Sometimes it’s the little moments that hit the hardest like when your teenager storms out of the room, eyes full of frustration, and slams the door… and then returns thirty seconds later to apologize and ask for a hug. Then there are the moments when they start a deep conversation about issues in the world today and you find yourself impressed by how knowledgeable they are about their faith and how wise they are becoming deep down. Suddenly, they’re asking how you know when you’re in love (slow down there, tiger!). The next minute, they’re asking what’s for dinner.

These are the moments that make your heart ache and swell at the same time. You can’t fix it for them. You can’t always solve it with a hug or a Band-Aid. All you can do is listen, breathe, and remind them (and yourself) that God is with them in the messy, confusing middle of growing up.

Witnessing their growth is a beautiful thing. A parent sees their personalities forming, their convictions strengthening, and their faith becoming their own.

The beauty is also bittersweet. While they are growing, they are also slowly leaving the nest.

Living Between Beginnings and Goodbyes

Lately I’ve become very aware that I am living in a strange and tender middle space of life.

On the one hand, I welcomed a new baby into the world five months ago. There is new life in my home again—her tiny fingers, cries, dirty diapers, sleepless nights, and the overwhelming miracle of watching a brand-new person begin their journey. On the other hand, my oldest child will be sixteen this year.

Sixteen. I can hardly believe it.

It’s a strange irony to hold a newborn in your arms while watching another child stand on the edge of adulthood. In one moment, you are rocking a baby to sleep, and in the next you are talking with a teenager about their future, their dreams, getting their first job, getting their driver’s license, and the life they hope to one day build for themselves.

It feels like welcoming new life while slowly letting go of others. In the midst of all this, I have begun to notice something else: I am now the age my parents were when I was growing up. Somehow that feels impossible.

When you are a child, your parents seem so established, so steady, and so certain about everything. You feel like they’ll be around forever. They feel like the adults who have life figured out. They are the ones guiding the family, making the decisions, and carrying the weight of responsibility. Now I look around and realize I am standing in the same place they once stood.

I am the one raising children. I am the one entrusting God with their future. I am the one trying to build a home filled with faith, love, and stability. Suddenly I see my parents differently.

I see how young they really were. I see how much they were probably figuring out as they went. I see how much courage it must have taken to carry the responsibilities they carried especially between losing a son and also walking me through my crosses.

When we are young, it is easy to believe our parents had everything under control, but now I realize something else. They were doing exactly what I am doing now. They were trying their best, loving their children, trusting God, and hoping they were getting it right. That realization has given me a whole new level of gratitude for them.

Now they are in the stage of life my grandparents once occupied. So while I am welcoming new life and watching my children grow toward adulthood, I am also slowly becoming aware that my parents will not be here forever. Standing between new beginnings and last goodbyes is a strange place to stand.

Looking Back… and Wondering

Turning 41 last year has also brought a different kind of reflection because I find myself looking back on the years behind me. I recall the pain, the suffering, the triumphs, the good relationships, and the broken ones. I remember the people who hurt me and the people who lifted me up and loved me through the hardest seasons. I remember so much of it, and sometimes I find myself asking difficult questions.

Have I done a good job?

Have I loved my husband well enough?

Have I been the mother my children deserve?

Have I been a good daughter, sister, and friend?

Have I done enough for my Church?

Most of all, I wonder: Is God pleased with my life?

It’s a vulnerable question to ask.

I think it’s also part of the heaviness I’ve felt since my baby was born. Postpartum life (especially as an “older” mom) has a way of opening the heart wide. It brings both joy and reflection, hope and sorrow, gratitude and exhaustion. Sometimes you feel it all at once.

The Quiet Hope in the Middle of It All

When those questions come, I try to remember that God never asked me to live a perfect life. He asked me to live a faithful one.

He wants me to be faithful in the small things., faithful in loving the people He has placed in my life even if I’ve had to say goodbye to them for one reason or another, and faithful in continuing to trust Him even when the road is difficult or confusing.

I don’t think this season of life is meant to feel tidy and complete. It is meant to feel full. It’s full of beginnings and endings, growth and letting go, and full of love that stretches across generations.

Maybe that bittersweet feeling is not something to fear. Maybe it is simply a sign that life is moving exactly the way it was meant to. It’s the circle of life (cue baby Simba being raised up on Pride Rock while the choir sings in the background). Children grow, parents age, families change, and new life begins. Through all of it, God remains present.

So, for now, I will keep on doing the small things. I’ll hold the baby, listen to my teenagers, listen as the young ones ask question after question and bicker with one another over the most random issues. I’ll keep praying with my husband and our children. I’ll keep calling my parents and asking how I can help when they need it, and I will continue being profoundly grateful for everything they do to support and help our family. In the middle of all these ordinary moments, I’ll keep doing my best to trust that God is quietly writing a story that is bigger and more beautiful than I can yet see.

The measure of a life is not whether we did everything perfectly, but whether we were faithful to God and faithful to loving the people He entrusted to us along the way. My friends, holiness and striving for sainthood is always the ultimate goal.