The Last Shall Be First

Dear TEAMS,

Two weekends ago, I stripped the Spiderman and NASCAR sheets off of the twin beds in the boys’ room for the last time, replacing them with matching sets that befit a College Freshman and 14-year old.  The practical side of me was thankful, in that they were old and starting to show significant wear, but the Loving Mommy in me was sobered by the memory of shopping for the bedding and the enthusiasm my boys had for sheets that reflected their interests.  It was a simpler time that the passion of a child was consumed in bedding and other surface things.

When Daddy began working after leaving seminary in Chicago, he had a manager named Bill.  A was just a baby and Bill would reflect with Daddy about his own 7-year old son, with whom he shared custody with his ex-wife.  One of the things he shared with Daddy has stuck with me throughout your lives.  Everyone celebrates the first with kids—first steps, first lost tooth, he said.  No one realizes that life is actually full of the lasts…like the fact that my kid doesn’t want to wear Superman underwear anymore, but underwear like Daddy has.

I reflected on that with the sheets, and how so many “lasts” I really don’t savor.  I don’t remember the last time I put some of you to bed with a story and tucked your sheets in all around while you laid still as a mummy.  I would tell you that it was actually my love I was putting around you as the sheets got tighter and tighter, and my love is so thick that even if you moved, it would still be on you.  Then I would sing the “I Love You Forever” song and the last thing I’d say is, God is always with you, He loves you, and He wants the best for you.

I don’t remember the last time you rode the Big Wheel down the driveway at top speed and into the backyard, seeing how far you could coast.  I just remember asking you if you were going to use it anymore (as broken as it was) and being glad to throw it away and having more room in the breezeway.

I don’t remember the last time you smiled at me with your braces shining, drawing that much more attention to the sincerity and breadth of your happiness.  I just remember being glad you could have them off, because you didn’t enjoy them so much.

I don’t remember the last time I gave you a bath and listened to you laugh and splash and talk with me about questions you had from your day, or comforting you from the fatigue of the day. One day, you took your own shower and I just remember being glad I didn’t have to bathe you anymore and it opened up a little more free time to squeeze in just another thing needing done in a day.

In the movies and TV, there is a soundtrack that plays to get the viewers’ attention when something significant happens.  Life doesn’t have one of those soundtracks.  If it did, I suppose the last time you hopped off the Big Wheel and brought it into the breezeway to clean up the yard, there would have been some romantic, poetic, music playing and I could have wistfully realized I had just witnessed a “last.”  But, without fanfare, you hopped off the toy and put it away and it just didn’t hold your interest anymore, or you grew too big, or you graduated to your bicycle.

I never want to live in regret, nor do I want to look backwards.  As your Grandpa K told me once:  History is like a rearview mirror in a car.  You look through the windshield to where you’re headed most of the time to drive safely, but you have to check the rear view mirror every so often to make sure things are safe back there as well so you can have complete information about the drive.

This letter is just one of those rearview mirror moments.  Knowing that “lasts” are all around me, I want to be present in each moment so that when I look back and realize it was a “last,” I can be glad I was there and living it.

Love,

Photo: © Svetlana Tikhonova | Dreamstime.com