Menopause That Time Of Life
by Rebekah Branham Smith

I’ve read that a fortunate 15 percent of women find The Change to be uneventful. Well, goody for them. As for the other 85 percent of us, it can be anything from mildly annoying to totally debilitating.

Two-thirds of us are destined to suffer through hot flashes – some for five years or longer – as our hormone levels rise and fall a half-dozen times a day (or, for some, a half-dozen times an hour). Then there is the moodiness, depression, crying, anger, fatigue, heart palpitations, night sweats, insomnia, shoulder and hip pain, memory loss, and all the rest – a veritable smorgasbord of physical and psychological ‘challenges.’

Unfortunately, for a few women menopause can be like a terrifying walk down a long, dark alley. Lurking in the shadows is a gauntlet of demons, hissing and taunting the mind with impending disaster. Each step threatens to send the sufferer ‘over the edge,’ tumbling out of control into the blackness of the unknown – even insanity.

In the paragraph at the top of the first page, Brother Branham told the woman in the prayer line that menopause is something that “makes people fear.” It is easy to understand why.

One interesting fact that I ran across not long ago was that the average age for menopause today is five years earlier than it was 30 years ago. Eight out of every 100 women are now starting The Change before the age of 40. The fact is, if you are in your 40s, even if you’ve had no physical symptoms yet, the chances are that you are in a stage known as “perimenopause” (getting ready for menopause). To make the complete transition to a postmenopausal woman will take from seven to 10 years.

My mother was one of those who started in menopause at a very young age. On the day that I was to learn what it meant to be a woman (thus providing me with a reason for writing this letter to you today), she was only 42 years old. I was a typical teenager – 15 years old, flighty, self-centered, moody. I recall being aware of the fact that Mother, who was normally very reserved and mild-mannered, was beginning to behave ‘strangely’ at times. Her patience was shrinking. Her rebukes were sharper and swifter, but were often followed by tears – her’s. And most oddly of all, she could frequently be seen standing in front of the refrigerator with the door to the freezer compartment open, for no apparent reason.

On this particular day, my nonsense and her frustration were on a collision course. We had ‘words,’ but for the life of me I can’t recall the reason for our disagreement. I do know that it took place in the kitchen, and I thought we were alone. Whatever the subject, I felt that I had the upper hand and was about to ‘win’ the argument when Dad suddenly appeared in the doorway leading into the dining room. “Sis,” (a name he often called me as I grew older, and I much preferred it to the baby-sounding ‘Belpy’ that I usually went by) “can I speak to you for a minute in the other room?”

He turned and headed towards his den room. I looked at Mother, and the relieved look on her face was just enough to push all of my ‘bad attitude’ buttons at the same time. “Okay, you win!” I declared as I turned to follow Dad. “I’m always wrong, and you’re always right. Is that what you want to hear?” Dad had already disappeared around the corner, and Mother was behind me in the kitchen, but I just kept on venting. “I apologize; I apologize for living; I apologize for breathing; I apologize for everything I’ve ever done…” I just didn’t know when to shut up! By the time I caught up with Dad in the den room, I was still spouting off absurdities. “There’s no need for a talk,” I told him. “I’ve already admitted I was wrong…” He held up his hand to interrupt my jabbering. “Actually, you were right,” he said with a smile. I could hardly believe it. “Let’s go tell Mom!” was my first response, but he motioned for me to sit down. He took a seat in his big study-chair, and I perched on the footstool in front of him. He leaned forward until our faces were very close, and he whispered, “Let’s let Mommy win, and it will be our little secret.”

Well, I wasn’t too happy about that, and undoubtedly the look on my face reflected the way I felt. He said, “I think we should talk about some of the things that are happening to you and Mommy right now, so that you’ll understand what is causing the both of you to feel and act the way you do.”

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