We often remember our firsts. They leave a mark — or sometimes a scar. And for those smaller milestones that may not be memorable (e.g. the first time going to a specific restaurant, seeing a certain movie), we can know in the moment that it’s a first.

But it strikes me that while we experience “lasts”, we often don’t know it’s our last time when it happens. A last meal at a favorite restaurant, a last conversation with an acquaintance, a last kiss before a breakup. And I’m not talking moments immediately before death or trauma (though there’s that, too). I mean the natural flow of time, the quiet moving on that occurs in life.

In parenthood, one example is the simple act of carrying an exhausted child to their bed. It’s something so routine, and then it becomes sporadic, and eventually, without realizing it, you’ve done it for the last time. They’ve grown out of it.

It makes me realize that I’ve already had so many lasts with my kids, moments that slipped by without acknowledgement, let alone any pomp or circumstance. And similarly, I’ve unknowingly experienced final moments with others… past friends, former coworkers, folks I’d run into regularly and greet with a smile.

If you could know it’d be your last time, you’d hold onto the moment a little tighter, give that feeling a proper goodbye.

I think for me, the recent pangs of nostalgia wouldn’t have hit quite as intensely if I had been able to properly ‘close the book’ on those past experiences. But then again, maybe you don’t need to close the book if you realize you can just start a new chapter.

current mood: pensive

current music: bon iver – holoscene