Miles Jesu: Sons and Daughters of the Immaculate of Heart of Our Lady of the Epiphany, An Ecclesial Family of Consecrated Life in the Catholic Church

Mom's Eye View

My Year of 'Lasts'
by a freelance journalist who is a wife and mother of three teenagers

A few weeks ago, my oldest son Roman got behind the wheel of the family van and drove off to school. It was a doubly-momentous occasion, because for him it was the first day of his senior year of high school, and for me, it was the beginning of what I’ve come to think of as ‘my year of lasts.’ Everything our family does from now until his graduation in May will have a tinge of ‘finality’ to it, and I can’t help but be a bit melancholy as I watch these precious days slip past.

On school-day mornings, I pack up the lunches thinking ‘this is the last September 13th (or whatever the date) that I’ll have three children living at home, under my roof and my authority.’ During Abby’s recent birthday celebration, it struck me that next year Roman won’t be with us for cake and ice cream on her special day because his college is hundreds of miles away and it just won’t be practical for him to come home so soon into the academic year. And in just a few weeks, Roman will bring home the last ‘First Quarter’ report card I’ll ever have to sign and send back to school for him; next fall he’ll only have to answer to his professors and to himself. So many things that have been ‘givens’ in my life are falling away like autumn leaves, beautiful and poignant but sadly obsolete, ready to drift away for good.

Year of Lasts My husband Dan comforts me that Roman will always be ‘our little boy,’ and friends laugh that if he’s anything like their children, there’s a good chance he’ll be back living in our basement at some point in his young adulthood. And I know that’s true, but still — it won’t be the same. After this year, he’ll be an adult staying in our house rather than a child growing up at home. Roman will be free to come and go according to his own schedule, to stay awhile or just pop in for a quick visit, and to opt to move across the country or around the world as his circumstances dictate. He’ll be a man, and the first of my little birds to leave the family nest.

So I’m trying to make the most of this year, knowing how special it is to realize that I’m going through these ‘endings’ as they happen. So many times, the ‘last’ of anything a parent does goes unrecognized, because when we’re performing that task we have no idea that we’ll never do it again. By the time it dawns on us that we’ve haven’t lined up the kids to see Santa or put a molar under the pillow for the Tooth Fairy or hidden Easter eggs in years, those events are already so far in the past we can’t recall any real details about the final time we experienced them. It’s true even for small things: the last night I read Goodnight Moon to the kids — was it rainy and cold, or were the windows thrown open to welcome in the warmth of springtime? Our final Halloween pumpkin, was it a scary grimace or a smiling jack o’lantern? And when did we stop making that weekly trip to the local hobby store to play with the wooden train display that seemed so much a part of our lives? Those bits of information are forever lost to me; they came and went unheralded by a mom busy with dirty dishes and unfolded laundry and a thousand other forgettable things.

That’s why it’s so important for me to take notice of this Year of Lasts. I’m constantly reminding myself to pause and soak in the feel of it all so I can savor these days as they happen and remember them in the time to come. “Today’s your last school picture” I told Roman one morning last week on the day the photographer was coming to snap a final posed shot for what would be the last yearbook of Roman’s childhood. I made sure his shirt was clean and hair neatly combed, taking time to ‘mother him’ while I still could. He smiled and let me, perhaps sensing that the Year of Lasts is upon him as well. We shared a hug that spoke more than words before he sped off to school, and I stayed looking out at the breaking dawn long after the van had disappeared down the beckoning road with my young man behind the wheel.

Through it all I console myself with a reminder that in this life, God always follows a year of ‘lasts’ with a year of ‘firsts.’ When I grow sad about seeing the end of an era, I remember that a new phase is about to begin, full of possibility and potential for the entire family. Yes, we’ll soon mark our last Thanksgiving as a family living together at home, but next year we’ll take our first trip down to the campus to pick up Roman and bring him back for the November feast, hearing tales of his college life as we make our way through the gorgeous autumn woods. And there will be the first time we join him on the bleachers to cheer on the college football team, the first dorm buddy who tags along on a visit to our house, the first care package we stuff with homemade cookies and packs of microwave popcorn to take the edge off his homesickness.

The younger kids, too, remind me that next year will be a time of ‘firsts’ for them, too. Abby will enjoy the new experience of being the ‘oldest’ child, while Charlie will for the first time be the only boy at home. They’ll miss their brother, but are intrigued and excited about the roles awaiting them in a ‘Roman-less’ household. And they make me realize that I have a great deal more “mothering” ahead of me as they continue to grow and develop and flourish under my care. They’re benefiting too from my Year of Lasts, as I now find myself appreciating every moment with each of my children in new and special ways, as a quiet voice somewhere deep inside — or maybe miles away across the universe — whispers, “the days of motherhood are so very precious — make them last.”