The Last Time

This picture popped up in my “winter photos” on my phone from 5 years ago.  Five years.  It is a picture of my oldest and his super tight teammates during their 11U season of baseball.  It just seems a little unreal, because those kids in that picture have all grown up and changed so much.  And it really does feel like yesterday they were all little squirts, running around the field, playing the game they all loved.  But the reality of how fast time goes is harsh.  It’s unnerving.  Especially when it comes to our kids, because they change so darn fast. 

This picture of misfits.  Who were all little goofballs. Still shorter than their coaches, and even shorter than their moms. (Definitely not anymore...)

Some of them decided to stop playing baseball and focus on a different sport, but most of the young men in this picture are still playing ball…in high school now.  High School. A couple of these kiddos are already D1 college commits.  And in just a few short years, one of these kids might even get drafted.  It’s crazy.

It dawned on me when I saw this picture again, that at some point, it will be the last time for a lot of things related to our children and their endeavors with youth sports. For me personally, the “lasts” seem clouded right now, and not as noticeable or sad, because there’s not a lot of time to think about the “lasts” with our oldest.  For the time being, they have almost gone unnoticed because we are still in the thick of youth sports with two younger ones at home.  This might be a good thing, but in the long run, will be harder than ever when the time comes for our youngest to tackle the list of “lasts.”  In fact, it will be heartbreaking.  And almost not possible.  But it’s coming.  Eventually, unfortunately. 

I have always been one to live in the moment.  Always.  It’s like my brain doesn’t have the capacity to think too far ahead.  Which sometimes drives my husband crazy.  I can’t always think ahead financially, I can’t think ahead emotionally sometimes, and many times I can’t even think far enough ahead in the future to plan out more than one or two meals for the week.  And no, I really haven’t even thought about what I’m bringing to Thanksgiving next week either. 

I just have always thought about today.  What’s happening in the “now.”  And I think with my children, it’s one of those deals where thinking about them as adults is almost too much to bear.  Thinking about them not needing me the same way they do now, about not living with us, and me not seeing them and being part of their everyday life is too upsetting to even fathom.  And even though my ultimate goal as a parent has always been to pave the way for each of them to grow up and become these responsible, kind, thriving, caring human beings, it seems almost impossible to set them free into the world just yet. 

So how do I capture and absorb all these “lasts” in youth baseball that are occurring right before my eyes, when there’s no way of knowing if they are, in fact, true “lasts?”

I can’t.  The only thing I can do is enjoy every moment.

For some of us parents, watching our boys play may end after their high school days.  Some of us might be lucky enough to watch them go on and play in college.  And for others, it may end abruptly one day, when they get a serious injury, or choose a different sport, or get a job, or get a girlfriend, or focus on getting an academic scholarship, or maybe even choose to just stop playing altogether.  All those different options are valid. There’s no wrong path for any of our kids.  We don’t have a crystal ball when it comes to their future.  We can only hope and pray that things work out the way they should….and that they are truly happy.  Whatever the case may be for your kiddo, there will be “lasts” at some point.  Many of them, whether you like it or not. 

The last time they need help tying their cleats while standing on second base in the middle of a game.

The last time they get frustrated trying to get that tight belt through their baseball pants, and you have to intervene.

The last time they shout your name from the dugout for another Gatorade or a warmer shirt or to get them Skittles from the concession stand.

The last time they get upset about a close loss, a bad play, or a tough go of it on the mound.

The last time they get their feelings hurt by a teammate and you must talk it through and figure out how to handle it.

The last time you hear their walk-up song, watch them dance in the dugout with their buddies, or hug their coach after the game.

The last time they rush the field after a championship win or hold the banner and smile for a picture.

The last time you go with their team for pizza after a tournament.

The last time they fall asleep on the car ride home.

The last time they forget their cleats, get your car filthy with dirt after practice, or ask for a new bat for Christmas.

The last time you fill up the tank when it’s still dark out while they’re curled up in their uniform and wrapped in their favorite blanket in the back of the car, waiting to make the hour drive to a 7am warm up and an 8am game.

The last time you soak their white pants or search the house for the missing baseball sock they need that day, or the right color hat. 

The last time they strike out, hit a double, triple or have their last ever home run. 

The last time you must remind them to go use the bathroom in between games.

The last time you drive them to practice or a game before they drive themselves or hitch a ride from a teammate who can drive.

The last summer ball, fall ball, or winter ball game. 

The last high school season that goes by in a flash, the last banquet at the end of the year.

The last ever talk on the ride home, about what went well and what didn’t during the game.

The very last time they walk to the plate.

We don’t realize it, but one day, it will be the last time we get to watch them play ball.  In fact, it will be the last of so many repetitive actions we have unknowingly taken for granted. 

But if you stop and think about it, parenting is filled to the brim with lasts. Every single stage of their lives.  The last diaper you are going to put on them, the last time you hold the back of their bike while they learn to ride, the last time you cut their meat without even thinking twice about it, or help them buckle their seat belt, or wipe their tears from their cheeks when they get hurt.

It's almost too much to endure if you try to make a list of the “lasts.”

So, don’t.

Instead, just think of it as a list of firsts.  For every “last” time you help your child or witness them perform, it means the opportunity to see them do the next big thing for the first time. 

Soak it all in. The lasts, the firsts, and everything in between.  We only get one go at it, so take in the memories and don’t worry about the crystal ball. In fact, don’t worry at all.  Take all the pictures you can and live in the moment.  And who knows, maybe that long list of “lasts” won’t go so fast.  Maybe...