The Lasts

It hit me today. The Lasts hit me. The finality of it all.

I’ve been trying to stay positive but somehow factual about our situation. About this situation…my situation. I’m trying to stay positive about being a mom during COVID-19. About quarantining and social distancing and budgeting. About about “life is 20% what happens to you and 80% how you react to it.”

And right now, in this moment, I can’t.

When I woke up this morning I found a link in my inbox from a dear friend. My girlfriend had sent me an article with a picture of a high school senior sitting in an empty hallway. The girl in the picture wore her formal graduation dress, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed into her knees. Golden hair fell in long curls along side her shoulders, hiding her tears, but not her sadness. This girl, this young woman, had gone into the school to empty her locker.

The Lasts

The emotion of the photo alone was enough to take my breath away.

After my first blog post I heard from some high school seniors, mostly my daughter’s friends. They said they were sad about missing events and milestones like prom, about graduation, about baseball season, about track. While most were at some appropriate stage of mourning, the general spirit was one of optimism. We still have so much to look forward to.

I love this attitude. I find relief and joy in knowing that some of the best days of our lives haven’t even happened yet. But I am also fully aware that sometimes it is important to sink into the moment. Sometimes we need to just feel whatever it is we are feeling. Feelings are real and raw and meaningful. Feelings cleanse us and heal us and teach us.

Right now, my sadness consumes me. I didn’t realize or even consider that there would be a day that my daughter would have to return to school to clean out her locker. Instead of her friends being around to laugh and take pictures and celebrate that they “made it,” all joking about how much they loved/hated school, she will likely have to go in to the once loud hallways, maybe 10 at a time, mask over her face, at least 6 feet apart from the kids she used to walk arm-in-arm with, collect her belongings, and leave.

That’s not how it was supposed to be; the “last time” was supposed to look entirely different. She made it to this point–we made it to this point–to celebrate it together, not to feel loss.

I guess that’s just not how 2020 has worked out. And while each senior is handling this in her own way, moms are trying to handle it too.



The Lasts

As a mom, you typically celebrate the firsts for your kids: the first words, the first steps, the first tooth, the first birthday, the first day of kindergarten… But you never know when the “lasts” will happen.

While I was busy teaching the importance of responsibility and packing your own lunch for school, I didn’t know that at some point in the last few months, I had already made your final school lunch, decorated with glitter stickers and your name obnoxiously written on the front.

The Lasts

While I was busy teaching the importance of financial responsibility, I attended what turned out to be your last big sporting competition without your siblings, because I didn’t feel like we should take on the expense of bringing them along. I didn’t realize that would be the last time for them to see you perform and compete in the sport that you love.

In the midst of life’s busy-ness, I convinced myself that you should drive yourself to your practice and pick up your brother from his so that we could manage our shortage of time through carpooling. I didn’t realize it would be your last practice or his. And I didn’t get to take either of you out for ice cream or lemon ice to celebrate the end of the season.

The Lasts

As a mom, I’m thinking about the “lasts” today…and I’m sad. Honestly, there are some “lasts” that I can’t remember. When was the last time I rocked you to sleep after breathing you in and nestling my face against your birdy fluff baby hair? I can’t remember the last time I gave you a bath in that lavender sleepy time bath wash. When did I last wash your hair or put it in braids or pony tails? When was the last time we said bedtime prayers and sang bedtime songs together? Somehow these “lasts” happen and time keeps relentlessly marching on, and you realize you didn’t even know a “last” was happening.

What I wouldn’t give to go back and hold those little cherub hands and hear that little angel voice one more time.

That phrase, “The days are long but short the years,” hits home entirely different now.

So maybe later this week I’ll throw some PB&J Uncrustables in a brown paper bag with a juice box and an apple and some homemade snicker doodles, and I’ll write your name obnoxiously across the front and decorate the bag with stickers, and I’ll cherish every second of making that lunch and handing you that bag with the top folded over…one last time.

My 16-year-old son just came into the room and asked me why I’m crying.

I told him that sometimes when I write, I feel a lot of emotions. I explained that, in this moment, I’m incredibly sad. He asked me what I’m writing about. I told him I’m writing about being a mom. He asked me how it feels to be a mom. And right now, in this moment–I have no words to tell him so that he will fully understand. Being a mom is the hardest happiest saddest most wonderful incredible most difficult satisfying awful wonder-filled beautiful and brutal thing that’s ever happened in my world. And I’m thankful for every second.

As he hugged me I said the only words I could come up with: “It’s everything.”

The Lasts

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