There are some endings that don’t arrive with a bang, but with a quiet, almost unnoticeable shift in the air.
The last day of school… for the very last time.
I didn’t expect it to hit me the way it did. There was no big trigger, no dramatic moment. Just a sudden awareness that something deeply meaningful was coming to an end. A chapter I had lived and breathed for years—being a full-time, always-needed, ever-present mother.
And then, almost like a whisper that turned into a wave:
“Last day of school
There I go again
No reason, no trigger
Except the fact that my time is coming to an end”
Motherhood, in its most consuming form, has been my identity for so long. The rhythm of my days shaped by school runs, packed lunches, forgotten water bottles, and last-minute projects. The chaos, the noise, the endless doing.
“Shrieking voices, excitement galore
Rushing to pick them up and then to the airport straight on
Start of summer
Start of my holiday as a mom…”
I used to look forward to those breaks. The illusion of rest. A pause from the mundane routines—cooking, cleaning, the constant juggling. The small fantasy of ‘doing nothing.’
“And oh, those memories…
The rains pouring their heart out
Mumbai monsoon, what a mad, magical sight…”
There was magic in those years. In the mess, in the madness, in the monotony. A kind of fullness that only reveals its beauty when you realize it’s slipping into the past.
“But now that’s all a part of the past
An era gone by…”
This is the part no one really prepares you for—not the sleepless nights or the toddler tantrums, but the quiet unwinding of being needed in the same way.
The slow realization that your children are no longer anchored to you, but are ready to fly.
“That love, that pride, that non-stop craziness aside
And I tell my heart that it’s okay
For the next chapter in my life awaits…”
And so, I sit with this mix of emotions. Pride and grief. Gratitude and a strange sense of emptiness. It’s transition, I tell myself. It’s growth, theirs and mine.
Because if they are stepping into independence, then I, too, am stepping into rediscovery.
“As kids fly the nest and leave the cocoon behind
It’s time for the nest builders to rearrange the nest…”
No one talks enough about this part—the rebuilding. The redefining of who you are when you are no longer needed in the same way, every single day.
But I remind myself:
“I have to be steady, I have to be strong
And be proud of the fact that my babies need me no more…”
Because this was always the goal, wasn’t it? To raise them well enough that they could leave. And back to being two from four.
“To come back to being two again.
Let a brand new chapter begin
In a land far away
Where opportunities await for us to pursue
And who knows where it takes us to.”
So I will let myself feel it all—the tears, the pride, the nostalgia, the hope.
Because this is not the end of motherhood.
It’s simply a transition.
And perhaps, also, the quiet beginning of coming home to myself again.
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