The Purpose of Middle Age

I don't know the purpose of middle age.  I'm there now, and I feel like I have no purpose.  When I was young, newly married, having children, raising children, surviving the daily struggle called life, I felt like I had purpose.

Then the children left home, made their own life, and I am where?  Middle age, the land without purpose.  I worked when the children were little, because it was a matter of survival. I dreamed of a time when I could just relax, work on my scrapbook projects, go to lunch with a friend, make a quick supper for two, and then read a book.  Middle age, the land without purpose.

At the end of the day, I'm weary, but not tired.  I look back over the day and wonder what I've accomplished.  Sure, the house is somewhat clean, depending on which of the little guys have been here.  I cooked supper for two, or maybe three, if Shana came by.  I didn't work on a scrapbook project, because that means getting it all out, and then having to put it all away.  I don't have lunch with my friends, and I don't even know the reason why.  I read a few pages of a book, and then have no interest in it.  Middle age, the land without purpose.

Sometimes I help my mom, or an aunt, or an uncle, but most times I just am me, me without purpose.  Get a hobby?  I have hobbies, they just don't interest me.  Take a walk?  Oh sure, I love to walk in the wind.  Middle age, the land without purpose.

I think middle age, the land without purpose is a tough place to be. This weekend while we were with Jacob, I realized another door had closed, and I'm trying to figure out how to open the next door in my relationship with my son.  Jacob and I were always very close, and we still are, it's just a different closeness.  He's a man, he doesn't need me, and now I try to understand how I fit into his life.  With Sarah and Julie it wasn't such a huge transition.  Moms and daughters work through stuff as it happens, and I know the girls will always be there, always call, always want to talk, but Jacob, it's just different.  I want to yell at him...I'm your mom. Remember me?

In this middle age land without purpose, I can't find me.  I don't even know the me that I want to be.  Would I even like me, if I found me?