The last time [senior year edition]
We celebrate the first time they do things. Here's how I am celebrating the last.
We’re in our last month of senior year with our youngest child and I continue to be wrecked by the all the ‘last time’ of things we are experiencing.
We know when the first day of school is. First game. The first dance. We have lots of photo proof and specific build up to those moments because we know when they are happening. But we don’t often know when the last time something is happening. Until after its slide past and there has been some time to realize that that was it—that was the last time you’d hold their hand as they crossed the street to school.
As I write this, the high school senior in question is having her last freak out over a difficult high school assignment that is due at midnight (11:59). I’ve done my last ‘cheering you on-you can do hard things’ pep talk in the kitchen while she made matcha and lamented and negated any offers of wisdom or support as she shuffled back to her room in her sweatpants and her boyfriend’s stolen hoodie.
These last few months of senior year are a lightening fast crawl through all the touchpoints that have shaped a soon-to-be high school graduate. The last art show, the last theater bow, the final late-night run to Dennys after strike (when all the parents and all their drills help disassemble the sets and organize rental wardrobe pieces, etc, while theater kids sorta help, but mostly dash about basking in the glow of a great show and wait to be driven to Dennys).
It is the last time volunteering as the team mom, the last time re-filling the student lunch card (please dear God), the last time filling out the student pass app (she’s late to school because we are so tired and legit struggling to gather any enthusiasm at this point, so sorry).
It’s the last time I serve pizza with my clunky latex gloves alongside that hilarious mom who whispers school gossip to me as eager teens come through the line (and ignore the salad and oranges I thoughtfully provided, btw). It’s the last time I borrow the key to the cabinets in the music room where we inexplicably store the snacks for the concession table.
It’s the last time I gently question if those shorts pass dress code.
The last time I request that the practice schedule be updated on the family calendar, for the love.
The last time I drive her to school or from school with a carload of rowdy teens belting show tunes.
The last time I hear the slam of that one heavy door by the quad.
It’s the last donation for teacher gifts or candy bars. The last purchase of celebration flowers for that dance/performance/award ceremony.
I’m noticing it all and treating every moment like it’s the last, because all at once, it will be. That’s how I’m celebrating the ‘last time’. I’m doing everything I can amongst the stress and speed and to-dos to hold on to each moment in the present. To savor it. To notice. To see the scattered backpacks in the high school hallway as I drop off a case of water bottles for the party. To catch he way the light hits the side of the school in the carpool lane. To examine the faces of the kids piling out of those heavy doors.
This will be the last time I drive her to school (the only benefit of a senior who doesn’t quite have her license yet is knowing this date in advance). The last time I’ll lean across the car to kiss her head and tell her to have a great day at school. The last time I’ll pick her up, holding a celebration boba tea out to her as she opens the car door.
(Well, honestly, I’ll probably be out of the car to meet her halfway in a giant hug. That will be our last hug at school until she graduates, and we have our first time hugging with her as an alumnus of the school that has informed so much of what she will step into as a young adult.)
And of course, I guess I know that last time I’ll hand her a bouquet of flowers at her high school after her name is called and she tosses her graduation cap into the air with so many of the kids I’ve grown to love and know and who’s presence I’ll miss in my car and in my pizza line.
What a wild season to be holding onto one hand of ‘the last time’ and stretching a supporting hand out for a whole bunch of new ‘the first time’ moments ahead.
Holding on and stretching forth—that seems to be the stuff in between all those firsts and lasts.
You can bet I’ll be grabbing some pics of the new firsts.
Ahhhhhh. Beautiful. 💚