The Last Time - Ramblings on Mother's Day

Yesterday was Mother’s Day in many parts of the world.

It got me thinking.

Parenting is a journey of phases, transitions and changes. Some are welcome, and others not so much. I find myself sometimes unable to look back at photos of my three when they were little as I find myself pulled into a deep sense of sadness. Sadness that those days are gone. Those sweet chubby cheeks. Gone. Those moments when they are not well and all they can do is lie on your chest. The innocence of childhood and the need to have you there, close, but not too close. Yes, the tantrums and the sheer frustration when all you need to do is get out the door and they won’t put their shoes on (although I am not sure getting out of the door with teenagers is any easier). It’s not all rose tinted glasses, but I really really miss our kids being little.

Moment’s like these

I once read a blog post (no idea who to credit for it) about the last time – there is a last time for everything in this life. We often talk about ‘firsts’, particularly with parenting, but I am not sure we think enough about the ‘lasts’.

There is a last time that your kid crawls into your bed in the middle of the night after a bad dream. There is the last time that you can carry them into bed when they fall asleep in the car. There is the last time they need you to tuck them into bed (not there yet). There is the last time they lose a tooth and believe in the tooth fairy. There is the last time you celebrate Christmas with a kid that still believes. The last time they need to hold your hand to walk. or actually ever hold your hand*. The last time you watch your kid play soccer. The last time you read them a bedtime story.

Some of these are abrupt, and some just fade out quietly one day.

For most of them we don’t get a heads-up. You only know in hindsight, when you look back. And then, we probably don’t even remember. We can’t actually pinpoint that time. That last time.

Such is the fog and haze of life.

We are too busy.

Last week, we did a last time and we knew it.

We dropped our daughter at Cayman Prep for a full day of school, during the morning rush hour for the last time.

She is now in the middle of her GCSEs and only going in for exams.

Not only was it the last time for her, but our last time ever dropping a child at that school.

We have had kids at that school for 12 years. Our boys were right behind her but they are now in school in the UK (and she will follow in September). So that’s it. The last time. Done.

I wasn’t really sure how I felt about it. There was a sense of relief that the early mornings, the morning rush and stress of the morning commute is over. I hated that. But it felt ceremonial, like something we needed to celebrate or commiserate. I am not sure which. Because this was a last time and we knew it.

Today, in the UK, I saw my boys off to school at 8am (an hour later than in Cayman). There was no traffic, no stress – one walked and the other was dropped three miles down the road. And the road is a sweet country road – no roundabouts or traffic lights. Just the English countryside, looking glorious on a late spring day. (And a few potholes).

I suppose the point is that one door closes and another opens. You lose something and gain something else.

Our kids may not need us in the same way they did when they were babies, toddlers and young kids. But they still need us. They need our presence, support, advice and mostly, love.

It’s different. There might not be a sleepless night from a bad dream but now you enjoy an evening out with grown-up children (we are not quite there – our boys still seem to act like toddlers in a restaurant. But we did have a wonderful hour with our daughter recently where she popped out with us for a drink).

They may not need to hold a hand anymore, but now we can have adventures where nothing is off limits and I can no longer keep up with them.

There may not be nappies to change but there are still cuts and grazes and bruises that need cleaning and my daughter still loves to have her hair brushed and dried.

But even all of these things will have a last time.

My mum hasn't brushed and dried my hair for a very, very long time. One day, without either of us noticing, that was the last time too.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe the point is simply this: slow down and enjoy the things you get to do with your kids. All of the things. The fun and the not-so-fun. It goes by so fast. The morning rush and the country roads. The first times and the last times, even when you don’t know it.

It goes by so fast.

P.S. If you need a reminder that life is fragile, precious and short and sometimes the last time happens and you can never go back, here’s a conversation with a journalist and author of Dispatches from Grief. Danielle lost her daughter unexpectedly and suddenly. It’s sad and poignant and will also make you smile. Mostly, it will remind you that every day we get to share with those that we love and that love us is a blessing that we should never take for granted.

*And, one last thing - one for the Dad’s …a wonderful article about holding hands.