The final buzzer keeps on sounding

In my defence, before my son played hockey, cups were just something I drank hot chocolate out of.

I watched last Friday night as the hockey moms hugged their sons for photos. Both sides were wearing the Vikings hockey jerseys.

This part of hockey I'm familiar with – the last home game. The end of a journey.

Months before your children graduate from high school, they'll have endings. For many families, that will involve a sport.

For those moms and dads that I watched last weekend, it was hockey, just as it had been for me many years ago.

It's been nearly six years since my oldest son Jacob graduated, and it was around this time all those years ago that he played his last high school hockey game.

I can still picture the two of us long before that, standing in the sports aisle of Canadian Tire. My five-year-old, soon-to-be hockey player full of excitement, and me, a clueless hockey mom feeling completely overwhelmed.

I had no idea how a chest protector was supposed to fit. I couldn't tell if we were putting the elbow pads on upside-down. And when I got to the cashier, I realized I had grabbed a Jill instead of a Jock.

In my defence, before my son played hockey, cups were just something I drank hot chocolate out of.

His first year of atom rep hockey was the year we welcomed a new addition to our household – the one we referred to as ‘the jacket.'

The jacket was confusing. Not only did it have to be worn to all home and away games, it also had to be worn to all practices and to school in the dead of winter because, apparently, the jacket was made out of the warmest material known to mankind – despite mom saying otherwise.

The jacket also had to be worn to all Yarmouth Junior A Mariners games. Failing to do so would result in a repeated chorus of: “Mom, did you bring my jacket?” “Mom, where's my jacket?” “Mom, I need my jacket!”

And when wearing the jacket, even in 10 centimetres of snow, sneakers had to be worn at all times because winter boots did not “go” with the jacket – or so I was told.

Fast-forward through the years and the jacket was eventually replaced with suits, shirts and ties, and even tracksuits – although winter boots still remained on the do-not-wear list.

Since that first day in the sporting aisle, we went through Timbits, novice, atom A, peewee A, peewee AAA, bantam A, bantam AA and YCMHS Vikings high school hockey.

Throughout the years, there were playdowns, meltdowns, celebrations, heartbreaks, cheers, tears, tracksuits, dress suits, short sticks, long sticks, (and the dreaded broken sticks) and a variety of hockey bags, some more practical than others.

There was brown hair, green hair, blond hair, orange hair and – after self-inflicted tournament bad hair – sometimes there was no hair. Whatever it took to ‘fix it.' Besides, it grew back.

I purchased my vehicles based on the number of hockey bags I could fit in the trunk and I scheduled my vacations around hockey tournaments.

There were lessons learned from winning games and equally important (maybe more so) lessons learned from losing them.

To be a good winner, I always believe you need to be an even better loser.

Most importantly, we made lifelong friends – although not as important as all that time my son and I got to spend together.

It all seems so long ago. Jacob is now actually my coworker. He's a videographer with our company, Saltwire, and works in Halifax, where he lives.

I don't see him every day, and yet every day over the winter months, a memory pops up on my Facebook to remind me of our hockey years together.

At times it seems so long ago. Other times it seems like just yesterday.

I know from experience the final buzzer isn't easy. It's sad for families to lose a part of their lives together that they enjoyed so much.

But to all the moms and the dads who now, and in the coming weeks and months, will experience their ‘last' days, I offer this.

Although things are coming to an end, they are also paving the way for new beginnings.

Those will be fun too.