Quiet Endings

It’s quiet.

If I had to describe this pause in life, that’s what I would say. It’s quiet.

I can hear the birds chirping, but the sound of kids playing is missing. This weekend, the lake house was filled with hustle and bustle. Dogs ran underfoot. Dishes were loaded and unloaded. Bacon sizzled. The kids played. We compressed a whole summer’s worth of things into one weekend.

It was loud and busy and so full.

But today, it’s quiet.

The dishes have been washed and put away. The leftovers have been frozen or tossed. The last load of laundry is ready to be folded. The kids, the dog, and my husband have all moved back into their own rhythms, and I am sitting here at the lake in the quiet.

It was a big weekend on the heels of some big moments.

After five years of building and teaching at a homeschool co-op, I officially ended that chapter of my life. I started the week horse-sitting in my old neighborhood. Over the course of those days, I found myself sitting with the loss of the life I had just a year ago. I was once again immersed in a familiar routine of feeding and cleaning, but also in quiet reflection.

The week ended with our final co-op day. It was a fun-filled carnival that ended with smiles and hugs as everyone signed yearbooks and packed up their prizes.

And then it hit me.

This was an ending.

My retirement, in some ways.

No fancy send-off. No big announcement. Just a meaningful chapter closing quietly.

As I left that moment and prepared for the busy weekend ahead, I got the early morning call that my dad was in the hospital. Fortunately, he is doing well and is home recovering, but it marked another kind of quiet ending.

While he still has strength and vitality as an 84-year-old man, gone are the days of working outside all day without rest or water. He, too, is adjusting to the quiet time that follows a busy, action-filled life.

It’s funny how endings come so quietly.

One minute you are so busy you can barely see straight, and the next you are sitting on the porch swing, wondering where the time went.

I’m hoping to use these quiet moments well. To sit with the feelings and emotions that come with all this change. Kids growing. Parents aging. Roles shifting. It’s a lot.

I don’t know exactly where I’m going next, but I do know time will continue to slip by quietly. I can either push against it, or I can let myself fully inhabit it.

The busy moments, when everything is packed into a loud, full weekend.

And the quiet ones, when I plant one last tree with my dad or sit on the porch swing and let the quiet wash over me.