The most difficult "first" I think I endured was watching my baby (Lyndsay) drive out of my sight alone and driving all by herself for the first time. I held my cell phone in my hand the whole time she was gone, just in case.
What I truly wish I had held closer to my heart though are the "lasts".
I don't recall the last time I held one of my kids in my arms and rocked them to sleep. I have no recollection of the last time I held one of their hands to cross the street, or the last time they sat in the grocery cart seat. If I had known it was the last fort built with blankets on the dining room table, would I have crawled in there with them?
When you lose someone you love, your mind naturally returns to those "lasts". The last time we talked, our last visit, the last time we ate together.
The day before my Mom died, her sister brought a strawberry cake to us. My Mom and I sat up in the bed and laughed while we ate cake. I somehow knew it would be a "last" and enjoyed it with the heart of a five year old.
We don't always get that lucky though. We don't always have warning signs indicating trouble ahead, or even a heads up that change is on the horizon. And while I don't want to live in a morbid state of "what if this is the last kiss, last, hug, last talk, last phone call, last email, last time...", I do hope those lasts will live on in my heart.
What I am certain of is that when my grandchildren want to build a "cushion city" in the living room, I'm in. They may never ask me again!
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