We never know the last time, and we certainly don’t know the last time as it is happening. We don’t recognize it’s the last time as we carry our kids in our arms, until we look back and realize it was the last time we carried them. We don’t always see the last time we spoke to a loved one is the final time we will ever speak to them until we are at a funeral. We simply do not know the last time until something happens that makes it clear.
Last times are real. And I suppose last times are different for everyone. Last time you talked to your mom, or your kid, or your brother or sister. Last time you petted your animal, or made love, or rode across the country with friends. Last time you went to work, volunteered, or went to church. Last times …
Last times resonate. We look back and remember the last time we stroked a cheek, gave a hug, condemned someone, or did amazing work. Last time we hugged our grandparents and sat around the table with cousins, siblings, parents, and aunts and uncles. Last time we listened to friends playing guitar and singing. Last time we saw a smile from someone we loved.
We simply don’t know which time is the last time, and I believe we should make each time wonderful and memorable.
I often lament that I am the woman with all the angst, the woman of loss, the woman that accepts, feels, and wants everyone to understand how loss can change a person. Given my choice I think I would have chosen differently, but when I think about it I can’t imagine I would be much different. I want to know the last times, and I want to remember, and be alert to the possibility that each interaction could be the last.
As much as I get beat up for my opinions, which don’t seem so popular these days, I do know this to be absolute truth – you don’t know the last time until it is the last time.
As usual, keep seeking, believing, and living!