Humans have always been fascinated with “firsts.” The first man on the moon, the first transatlantic flight, the first Black president. We remember our own favorite firsts: our first kiss, our first love, our first paycheck, our first concert, our first pet. In a less-pleasant way, we also remember the more painful firsts: our first failure, our first heartbreak, or our first experience with the death of a loved one.
Whether they are pleasant or painful, these experiences are easy to remember because they are easy to recognize. You know when you are having a first.
This is not usually true for our “lasts.” Yes, in certain circumstances, you might know a last moment: your last day on the job before you retire, your last day of high school, etc. These types of last moments are very much the minority; far greater are the moments that you do not realize are the last until much later. How often have you looked at a picture from the past and said something like, “this was our last Christmas with Dad”?
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Think back on your life: can you pinpoint moments that turned out to be last moments, but you did not know it at the time?
My mother lived in a memory care facility in Ames, Iowa, for the last two years of her life. I would try to make the drive from my home in Des Moines to Ames on the weekends. I remember visiting my mom on my birthday, August 31, in 2024. We had a nice visit together; as I left, I said “I’ll be back again to see you on Sunday. Love you, Mom!” It was an hour drive back home and I had things to get done that night. I got a quick hug and kiss and I hurried out.
I got a call the next morning from the on-charge nurse that Mom was non-responsive. She died the next day, never regaining consciousness.
Writers of suspense stories will often grab you with an omniscient, foreboding sentence at the end of a chapter such as, “and that was the last time anyone saw Jane Doe alive.” I wish some all-knowing author would have told me that August 31 would be the last time I would see my mother alert and alive. I tell myself, “I would have stayed longer,” “I would have hugged her tighter and longer,” and “I would have said those things that I had always wanted her to know but I never shared.”
It doesn’t even have to be a “last moment” of great magnitude like the example above. There are endless last moments in our lives, from the mundane to the life-altering. Revisit some of the last moments that you can remember. What would you have done differently had you known it was the last time? Would you have said something more or something less? Would you have stayed longer? Would you have given a fonder goodbye? What would you have changed had you known?
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When I was a young altar boy, there was a sign in the room where the priests got ready for Mass. It said “Celebrate this Mass as if it were your first Mass, your last Mass, or your only Mass.” I found great wisdom in that philosophy, even though I wasn’t a priest.
Every minute of every day is a “moment.” Every moment of every day has the possibility of being a first moment or a last moment. How would our lives – spiritual and physical – change if we recognized each of these moments as gifts from a loving God? Perhaps you had a favorite grandmother that often reminded you to “count your blessings.” It is easy to count “big blessings,” but don’t forget to appreciate the very small and seemingly insignificant ones as well. When you go to bed tonight, instead of counting sheep, see how many tiny blessings you can thank God for giving you in just one day: a cool breeze, the laughter of a child, the stranger who held a door open for you.
I like to imagine that God gave Moses an eleventh commandment at the top of Mt. Sinai. It was written in God’s artistic font all by itself on a third tablet: “Carpe Diem: Seize the Day.” Unfortunately for God’s chosen people, Moses only had two arms.
