I have been thinking a lot
this past week on what seems to be an over-emphasis on FIRSTs in our culture.
The first steps.
The first tooth.
The first born.
The first time to have sex.
The first haircut.
The first word.
The first car.
The first time to roll over.
First. First.
First. We photograph them. We brag about them. Heck, we even make BOOKS about them.
And I have wondered why
the lack of acknowledging the LASTs…
Is it because the LASTs
are so scary? Too frightening to confront?
The last time to drive.
The last time to speak to your loved ones.
The last smile
The last time to walk.
To run. To jump.
The last time to shop.
The last time to kiss.
To hug. To make love.
The last vacation.
The last meal.
If we could embrace the
LASTs as much as we do the FIRSTs, would that make them more meaningful? More tender?
Might they not be as frightening to us?
If the lasts were something to cherish as much as the firsts, would our
perspective on them change to something to be celebrated instead of mourn?
Today we surrounded my
sister as she took her last breath.
And in the days prior, I
was there for her last bite. Her last
drink. Her last big foray out into the “real
world”.
It is hard to fathom that I
have given her the last kiss.
Seen her smile for the
last time.
Hugged her the last time.
And heard her incredible
laugh the last time.
But I have. She is gone.
No more firsts, no more lasts.
I hope that the memory of
her last year – savoring her lasts – sticks with me and inspires me to
focus more on every little thing. Because
each tiny thing could be a last.
May memories of Annette’s
bold determination and spirit of life since diagnosis inspire us ALL to be more
mindful of every day, every thing, every possible last.
Love you, sissy. The Thompson Sisters will never be quite as
strong ever again.
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