Celebrating the Lasts

I wrote this two years ago, and it was published in an online magazine, which is no longer.  It kind of ties together with my birthday post that I'm working on right now, and brings to mind my relatively new philosophy of living in the moment.

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Two years ago I was diagnosed with a terminal illness.  As more and more time passes, I find myself wondering, "Will this be my last...?"  When we're born, our firsts are celebrated.  Our first step, our first word, our first food, our first ride in a grocery cart (yes, I remember making a big deal out of it the first time my son rode in a shopping cart at Giant), our first day of school.  As we get older, we make note of our first kiss, our first boyfriend/girlfriend, the first time we drive a car, our first taste of alcohol.  We don't celebrate our lasts, though.  Oh, I think we would, if we knew it was the last time.  We do celebrate our last day of school, and our last day of work, but for most of our lasts, we don't know that it is our last.  Our last words are noted by the people we leave behind, and remembered, but of the other lasts pass us by without notice.

A few months ago, I had my yearly eye exam.  My vision changed a bit, so I looked at glasses.  As I was looking and trying them on, I couldn't help but think, "I wonder if this will be the last pair of glasses I will ever buy?"  It was kind of sad.  Looking at eyeglasses, sad.  Who would have ever thought?  I ended up not buying new glasses, because my vision did not change enough to warrant a $400 expenditure.  Then my thought was, "I wonder if the glasses I'm wearing are the last pair that I will ever own?"

The house I'm living in now -- is this the last place I'll ever call home?  Will I expend my last breath here?  I would really rather not; I don't want to die in the house that my children will continue living in after I'm gone.  But that's another topic completely.  The vehicle I'm driving -- my last?  Will I never again haggle with a car salesman as he goes back and forth between me and his manager to finalize the deal?  My dog -- will he be my last?  Will I outlive him, or he outlive me?  It would break my heart if he died before me, but it breaks my heart to think of him walking around the house looking for me after I'm gone.  That brings to mind five cats I had years ago.  They were my first cats, and my last.  I didn't think of it at the time, but I will, I am absolutely sure, never have another cat.  I wonder if, had I realized it then, would I have done something differently when I found new homes for them?  It wasn’t an option to keep them, I was marrying a man with asthma and allergic to cats.  What I wonder is – would I have been sadder when they went to their new homes than I was?  Would I have tried to find other options?  I'm reasonably sure that the job I have will be my last job.  I have no desire to find another line of work, and more importantly, I like my job.  Aside from that, my health insurance is through my employer, and good health insurance it is.

This evening, I was discussing with my family an upcoming vacation.  Ally's Wish, an organization that grants wishes to terminal patients, is sending us to Los Angeles on vacation.  As we were discussing staying closer in to Hollywood (more expensive) versus about an hour away (horrible traffic), the difference the cost would make in what else we are able to do there (there is a limit), it brought to mind a vacation that my sister took not long before she died.  She, her husband, and two boys took a vacation to Florida.  They did things they'd never done before (parasailing, jet-skiing, etc.).  I wonder if she knew it would be her last vacation with her family.  I think maybe she did.
While she was in the hospital that last time, I brought my sister a strawberry milkshake from Chick-fil-A that she asked for.  When I ordered it, I forgot to ask for no whipped cream.  So, when it came with whipped cream, I mustered up the courage to ask the very nice cashier to scoop it out.  She did, I took it to my sister, and all was well.  Had I known it would be her last strawberry milkshake, I would have ordered another, without whipped cream, instead of having the whipped cream scooped out, because there still was a bit in there, and it should have been perfect.  It was her last one....

I know why we don't celebrate our lasts.  It's not just because we don't know that they are the last time that we'll do whatever.  It's also because it would be very sad.  This vacation that I'm planning with my family will likely be our last big family vacation.  It will be bittersweet.  It will be very difficult for me emotionally.  It is absolutely necessary that we take this trip.  We need, as a family, to make great memories that will last my boys for their lifetime.

Another thought on our lasts.  Instead of a funeral where everyone gathers, I would like to see a gathering while I'm still alive.  Everyone who would come to my funeral, I would like to come to this gathering before I die.  I sometimes wonder who would come to my funeral.  I'll never know, though, because I won't be there.  Wouldn't it be wonderful to have a celebration of life while the person is still living?

So, let's celebrate our lasts.  Oh, sure, for the big events, we can guess.  I'm pretty sure this will be the last time I'll ever visit the west coast, the last time I'll ever see the Pacific Ocean.  For most things, though, we won't know it's our last -- our last bite of chocolate cake, our last bite of a really good steak, our last ride in a car.  So, let's do everything as though it's our last time.  Because you don't know....

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