An underground river of emotion flows beneath my exterior. Unbidden tears threaten when I recall firsts and anticipate lasts—the markers of all that falls between.
With a slight edge of irritation he asked, “Mom—Are you really going to do this all week?”
I’d just said, “This is the last Sunday night before your last Monday of high school.”
For a few days now, after filling out graduation party invites, my mind has been stuck on the lasts: last full week of high school, last week of packing his lunch, last week of traversing the high school parking lot—silent prayer: please drive through this week without an accident in that jungle of distracted rubber and metal.
And as my mind diligently ticks off lasts, it also counts firsts.
The first time I drove up the drive and my four leg did not run to greet me, the first time I walked a particular stretch of trail without her, the first time we ate steak and I poured the juicy remains down the sink instead of into her porcelain bowl decorated with primary color paw prints.
The thoughts amble and pause, part of experiencing life. Tears dribble past the mole on my right cheek and I remind myself not to linger here too long.
For everything between the firsts and the lasts has been a grand adventure—so much to celebrate! Like sandpaper to a wooden block, two souls shaped, softened and refined, rounding my edges and preparing me for more…..
firsts and lasts.