So many ‘last times,’ with more than a few moments still to savor

Several weeks ago, on an impulse while watching Great British Baking Show, my daughter posted on Facebook, “I’ve eaten the last thing my mother will ever bake.”

Some of her friends interpreted the remark as the announcement of her mother’s death. But no, that wasn’t it. “My mother is suffering with Alzheimer’s,” my daughter explained after receiving several condolences.

Not dead

Evelyn is certainly not dead. Not really. Anyone can take her pulse, feel her embrace, or see her smile and tell you she’s still here. But anyone close will also admit that the Evelyn we knew is no longer with us. Little parts of her are dying week by week, and each new loss is an occasion for grief.

My daughter’s right: Evelyn has baked a cake for the last time. But that’s not all. She has planned and prepared a meal or cleaned the house for the last time, too. She has shopped alone for a new outfit for the last time. She’s driven to meet a friend for lunch for the last time.

But no one realized any of these last times were the last. I certainly can’t remember when so many last times in her life happened.

When was the last time Evelyn and I talked, really talked, about a problem or a relationship? When did she last challenge my opinion with a better idea of her own? When did she surprise me by suggesting a movie or TV show she wanted to watch? When was the last time she saw and handled a hamper full of dirty laundry without my even noticing? When did she have an ache or pain or runny nose and decide by herself what to do about it? When did she read a book and tell me what was in it?

I can’t begin to tell you when any of these happened. It’s been so long.

Good times

But I don’t want to stop there. Because I also have a list of pleasant and pleasing experiences we enjoy every week, if not every day.

Evelyn doesn’t cook, but she eats! And she almost always tells me she likes the dinner I prepare.

She still wants to go to church, and she still sings along with the worship songs.

She still warmly greets friends there or at home. She still knows them—and me!—and calls us by name.

She’s still concerned about her hair, and she still looks pretty when we go out. She often picks out earrings and lipstick. And when I call her my Trophy Wife while helping her choose an outfit, she laughs.

I could go on and on, because my list of pleasant positives for a “these times” list is also long. But I know many items from this second list will likely move to the first one. So I want to savor each one. I want to notice each smile or “I love you, too.” I want to take in everything about each walk together in the sunshine. Who knows when I will enjoy any of these the last time?

The best years?

It’s a train of thought for anyone to ponder. When will be the last time you’ll enjoy dinner with friends? When will you cook a steak on the grill for the last time? When will you play a game with grandkids the last time? Which will be your last professional ball game or national park or airplane trip?

The point here isn’t to be fatalistic or sad but to recognize what has dawned on me almost too late. We do well to stop and breathe deeply in the middle of today and relish the good it is bringing us.

Years ago, my wife’s friend told about taking her toddler with her to the grocery store. He was busy and interested in everything she put in the cart where he was riding. Halfway through her shopping, she reached to pull something off the shelf only to turn and see he had found the eggs. He was taking them one by one out of the carton and dropping them on the floor. She gasped in frustration at the gooey mess at her feet just as an older woman passed her, patted her on the arm, and said, “Remember, dear, these are the best years of your life.”

Faced with a list of errands, coping with a tight grocery budget, and angry at her busy baby, my wife’s friend wasn’t convinced.

I’m wondering if she, an older woman herself now, would finally agree. And when I hear my wife reading the newspaper in the next room, when I see her smile at me when I wake her late most mornings, when we swoon over dishes of peanut butter chip on a Friday-night ice cream date, can I say, “These are the best times of our life?”

No. These are not the best. But they’re not all bad, either. And so I’ll recommit myself to treasuring each one, because I never know when it will be the last.

Photos by BrianAJackson at iStockPhotos and Manasvita S at Unsplash.com