That one last time

One day your parents put you down and never picked you up again. The strange thing is you probably don't remember when it happened. There was no announcement. No ceremony. No final warning. Just an ordinary day that looked exactly like every ordinary day. The last piggy back ride. The last time you sat on their shoulders. The last time they carried you from the car because you feel asleep.band neither of you know it was the last.

I think about it sometimes. How many "last times" pass through our lives unnoticed. The last time you played outside with your childhood friends before everyone grew up. The last time entire family sat together without checking phones. The last time a Grandparent heard your voice. The last time someone called you just to talk.

At that time it felt ordinary. Almost forgottable. Only later they become precious. When we were young we think life is made of beginnings. First days. First friendship. First dreams. First adventures. Everything feels endless. There will always be another summer.

Another family gathering. Another chance. Another tomorrow. Then one day without asking permission life begins introducing endings. Not dramatic endings. Quiet ones. The kind that arraive softly. The kind you only recognise in hindsight.

I remember being a child and beleiving ny parents knew everything. I thought that they were unbreakable. They would always walk a little faster than me. Always be stronger. Always have the answer.

Then one day I noticed the gray hairs. The tired eyes. The way the sighes when they are standing up. The way they started asking me for help with things they once taught me to do.

And it felt somehow unfair. Not because they have changed. Because time had changed. The people who once carried me were carrying years now. Years of work. Years of sacrifice. Years of worrying about me even when I did not realise it. It is easy to overlook these things.

Parents become part of the background of our lives. Like walls in the house. Always there and familiar. Until one day you stop and realise how much they have quitely held together. How many dreams they have postponed. How many years they hid. Not grand gestures. Not dramatic speeches. Just showing up. Again and again. Day after day. Year after year.

I wish I knew when certain moments where happening for the last time. I wish we could pause them. Stay a little longer. Listen a little more carefully. Hold on a little tighter. But perhaps life does not work that way fit a reason.

If we knew every goodbye was the last we would spent our lives afraid. Instead we are given ordinary moments and asked to appreciate them while they are here. So lately I have been trying to do that. To answer the phone. To sit a little longer at the dinner table. To listen to stories I have heard a hundred times before. To say thank you more often. Because one day we will wake up and realise that the moment is gone