They say that when it comes to our kids, we never know when the ‘lasts’ will be. One day we will do something with our child, completely unaware that it will be the last time we ever do it.

The last time I give him a bath.

The last time I tuck him in.

The last time I rock her to sleep.

The last time I carry her on my hip.

I suppose it’s a relief to not know when one of those times comes. If I knew, I would hold on to it with every ounce of my being and mourn it fiercely when the moment passed. How hard would it be to live those moments with an ever-present nagging sorrow that would come with the knowledge that they were the last of their kind?

Still, we are also told to live each moment as though it were the last. The human race has probably come to that advice through lifetimes of stark realizations that firsts are often lasts and each second that ticks by will never come to be again.

I remember that, when my husband and I visited Ireland after we were first married, I kept track of some of the things I’d like to do the next time, ‘when we came back’. I don’t know if it was wishful thinking or simply the naivete of youth that led me to believe that there would be a ‘next time’, but the likelihood of us getting to take that trip again is slim. I have far too many miles on my wish list, and with all the places I want to visit, I probably need to accept that, if I ever get those opportunities, they will be the first and only trips as well.

It’s why we look back on our photographs with bittersweet longing, why we cry at our kids’ graduations, and why we struggle with aging. Time marches on relentlessly, and each adventure we embark on must come to an end. Each precious change in our child’s face leads to the next change, and the next, until he or she is grown. No, there’s nothing quite like raising kids that smacks you in the face about how quickly this earthside journey goes.

Yet I want to live taking each adventure as it comes, not looking back on the loss of the ones we’ve had – because they’re not really losses at all, but rather an accumulation of love lived out. 

How many first and last moments have I missed out on because I was distracted? How many more do I have to look forward to, as long as I’m looking? And which of those questions will be my focus as the future comes?

As I’m doing my best to teach my kids how to live, I hope that I never get too caught up in what is over in favor of reveling in the excitement of what’s to come. It all comes too fast, no doubt, but we can live presently, truly savoring what’s right in front of us. Those memories carry us forward and give us hope as we, unaware of which second will be our last, travel into the unknown.

Until the next adventure.