Last Firsts

Slowing down enough to notice the moments that matter

Last week, I sent my oldest off to his last first day of school: the first day of his senior year. As he came down the stairs, I snapped a quick photo to match the one of him walking down the stairs to start his first day of preschool.

Of course I was also thinking about Maisa walking down those same stairs two years ago. I never imagined that her first day of eighth grade would be her last first day of school. We usually know what the first firsts are, but the last firsts? Those often slip past us.

I have seen many posts this week from other parents in similar positions sending off their seniors: many expressing gratitude and joy, and some expressing sadness. All feelings are valid. I do notice, however, that the meaning we attach to these moments can impact how we feel about them. If I tell myself that the passage of time means that I have missed something I might feel differently than if I tell myself I am grateful to be experiencing this or to have had the experience in the first place.

Because nothing is really certain except for this moment. Right now, I am sitting at my computer, typing these words. My body is heavy in the chair, and my breath is filling my lungs. I can feel the warmth of the tea in my mug. Outside, the sky is turning orange and purple as the sun sets.

This. This is presence. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Not the moment I think I “should” be in, or how I wish it were. Just this one.

Maisa was pretty good about being in the moment. She taught me then, and she teaches me now.

It’s easier said than done. I caught myself handing my son the sign saying “Last First Day” and snapping another photo as he rushed out the door so as not to miss it - and then, the moment was gone. What did the air feel like? How did he smell? I can’t tell you, but I have a photo.

We don’t teach our kids presence. My son’s high school has a five-minute passing period, three separate buildings, and a constant undercurrent of Hurry. Don’t be late. Don’t get a tardy. Presence in your seat is valued over presence in your body.

For some of us, especially those of us with neurodivergent brains, presence is complicated. We may time-travel constantly, ruminating about the past or scripting future conversations. We may fall so deeply into noticing details of a moment that the rest of the world disappears. Staying here takes practice. Especially when my mind constantly wants to visit the alternate universe where Maisa is still a teenager.

My friend phrased it well when she said Maisa *would* be starting her sophomore year if she were here in her body (as opposed to should be). While the human part of me very much aches and will always ache to have these earthly experiences with her, my soul knows there is something bigger happening. Maisa is still here, just not in a form I can hug or send off to school.

She lives on in:

• The teacher who quietly checks on the “perfect” student masking a firestorm inside.

• The friend who sits under a tree with another student who just wants to read at break.

• Her brother’s smile that lights up the entire classroom.

• The music that keeps playing.

• The art her friends create.

The truth is, last firsts are happening all the time. We only ever experience this moment once. And the only way to really experience the moment is, as Ram Dass said, to “Be Here Now.” Not just in the room physically, but by truly inhabiting our bodies via all of our human senses.

If you want to try it right now, take a minute or two and try what’s known as the 5-4-3-2-1 grounding method. Feel free to modify this in any way that works for you and your unique brain and body.

• Notice five things you can see.

• Four things you can feel.

• Three things you can hear.

• Two things you can smell.

• One thing you can taste.

That’s it. You’re here, present in your moment. It’s as simple as that! Every last first begins here, in the now.

Be Here Now - Ram Dass