The Last Time We Never Knew Was the Last

I was scrolling through Facebook the other day. Yes, I do that a lot. But as I was scrolling, I stopped on a post showing one of those incredibly high, incredibly fast roller coasters.

My first thought was, Wow, that looks like so much fun!

And then another thought came almost immediately.

When was the last time I rode one?

I used to love roller coasters. The higher, faster, and crazier, the better. But as I sat there thinking about it, I realized it had been a long time. In fact, the last time I rode one was when my kids were teenagers.

And suddenly, that silly Facebook post brought tears to my eyes.

That trip was our last real family vacation together before life began changing. Before my kids grew up, moved on, and started building lives of their own.

Of course, we didn’t know it was the last one at the time.

I wonder sometimes, if I had known, would I have done anything differently?

Maybe I would have complained a little less about my feet hurting.

Maybe I wouldn’t have grumbled quite so much about the heat.

Maybe those ridiculously long lines wouldn’t have seemed quite so long.

Maybe I would have looked around a little more and realized how special it was to have my teenagers there, happy to spend the day with me.

We rode roller coasters until nearly the very end of the day. When the park closed, we filed out with some of the last remaining people, laughing as we walked back to the car. We talked about our favorite rides, the funniest things that had happened, and even those long lines we had waited in.

We had fun.

We knew we had fun.

What we didn’t know was what that day represented.

For me, it would be the last time I rode a roller coaster.

For my kids, it was one of the last little pieces of their carefree childhood.

And none of us knew it.

That’s the thing about last times.

We all have them.

There is a last time you hold your child’s little hand as you cross a parking lot.

A last time they ask you to tuck them into bed.

A last time you pick them up and carry them.

A last family vacation before everyone’s lives become too busy to go.

There may be a last day at a job you once thought would always be part of your life. A last time enjoying a favorite hobby. A last walk down a familiar path. A last meal you share around a particular table.

And, hardest of all, there is a last hug, a last conversation, or a last kiss with someone we love.

But those moments rarely announce themselves.

There are no fireworks.

No countdown.

No little voice whispering, Pay attention. This is the last time.

Instead, they slip quietly into our lives disguised as ordinary moments.

We usually don’t recognize them until we’re looking backward.

Maybe that is exactly why we need to pay a little more attention to the ordinary things happening right now.

Maybe we complain a little less about the aching feet and notice who is walking beside us.

Maybe we worry a little less about the long line and enjoy the conversation we’re having while standing in it.

Maybe we put down the phone sometimes.

Maybe we stay at the table a few minutes longer.

Maybe we hug a little tighter.

Maybe we stop waiting for the big, extraordinary moments to appreciate our lives and realize that some of the moments we will treasure most someday are happening in the middle of a very ordinary Tuesday.

Psalm 90 puts it beautifully:

“Our days may come to seventy years,
or eighty, if our strength endures…
for they quickly pass, and we fly away.”

“Teach us to number our days,
that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

— Psalm 90:10, 12 (NIV)

Teach us to number our days.

Not so that we live afraid of what we might lose, but so that we become more awake to what we have.

I can’t go back to that amusement park and experience that day again. I can’t stand in those long lines with my teenagers or hear that exact laughter as we walk back to the car.

But I can allow the memory to teach me something.

Today deserves my attention.

The people I love deserve my presence.

The ordinary moments deserve to be noticed.

Because somewhere in the middle of all our firsts, middles, routines, frustrations, celebrations, and everyday life will be a last time.

And chances are, we won’t know it when it happens.

So perhaps the best thing we can do is love the people beside us, laugh while we’re waiting in the long lines, appreciate what our bodies allow us to do today, and take the ride while we still can.

Because one day, we may look back and realize just how extraordinary that ordinary moment really was.