It never ceases to amaze me how we go through thousands of seconds of our lives without blinking twice about it. Days, months, and years pass by without us ever taking notice. We don't take notice of the time passing until something stops the flow of time in our lives. Whether that event is something joyful, traumatic, or extraordinary, we finally look up from our boxes to take notice. We begin to group events in our lives from that event. "It was about a year after we lost my sister," "three months before I got married," "five years after I graduated high school." These events inevitably shape our lives. When these events took place, we had no idea that months, years, and decades later that they would function as our makeshift calendar.
My personal time clock is the passing of my dad from cancer. When I categorize stages in my life, they fall into the "before dad dad was sick," "when dad was sick," and "after dad was sick and died." It's not that when my dad got sick I knew what was coming. You never know when the last time will truly be the last time.
All of the first times happen without thinking about it. When the first time happens, you never wonder if the first time truly is the first time. With the last time there is always the ellipsis. You don't know whether what just occurred was truly the last time or just another blip in moments.
When my father watched me run my fourth half marathon in March of 2014, I had no idea that would be our last naive moment. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss because later that week when I was sat down after a Wednesday night's algebra homework, my life was changed forever. I watched a domino effect of "lasts" fold out before me. I felt as though I was on a never ending treadmill of "lasts." The last track meet he would attend, the last prom he would see, the last first day of school he would watch me drive out the driveway for, our last dance, the last time he was able to walk on his own hand in hand with me, and his last words spoken to me as I left for my first college recruitment trip. In these moments, I had no idea that they would be my "lasts."
We take every hug, word, kiss, laugh, and gaze for granted. We believe in the fallacy that there will be a tomorrow. We believe that we have a right to breathe another day, and that there will be plenty more hugs, words, kisses, laughter, and gazes. As human beings, we don't value the true worth of time and goodbyes until you lose something that you can never get back. When I walked through my front door that Thursday morning, I didn't know that my dad would pass away after a brave battle with cancer. Just like how anyone who hasn't experienced a "last" doesn't realize the significance of those insignificant moments they live each day, I was oblivious to the goodbyes. So when I hug a little tighter, smile a little longer, and ask for one last goodbye, don't discredit my reasoning.
