As school has officially ended and we are entering the much-anticipated summer months, I have been overwhelmed by all the “lasts.” While some are only “lasts” for this year, like Ashton’s last day of dance and Kameron’s last tee-ball game. I know those will be met with the first day of prancing into class with a tutu and the first time hitting the ballfield next year. Others are not so easy to cope with like Emerson’s last day of elementary school…ever! 

All the award ceremonies over the two final weeks of school further solidified that my oldest is most definitely entering junior high next year…ugh! Her last pep rally, awards day, National Elementary Honor Society pinning, cheer awards. (This kid does a lot!) 

Through the lots of “lasts” recently, it has really made me reflect on the “firsts” with her.  

Her first steps, her first day of school, her first sleepover, her first time riding a bike without training wheels, her first time losing a tooth, etc.  

Firsts are bright and filled with hope. They’re celebrated with pictures and proud tears. We mark them in baby books and social media posts. As parents we cheer you on through the firsts— 

But the “lasts”? While some are known, like her last day of elementary school, most of the time they’re quieter. They slip by, often unnoticed until they’re gone. And when you realize it was the last time, it breaks something open in your heart. 

While I vividly remember the “firsts” I just mentioned, it is harder for me to pinpoint the last time Emerson crawled into bed with me after a nightmare, the last time she reached for my hand in public, the last time I packed her lunch or tied her shoes. The last time she called me, “Mommy” instead of just “Mom (or BRUH!)” The last bedtime story. The last carpool conversation. The last chorus of “Watch me, Mama!”  

I don’t remember the exact moment when many of those “lasts” happened. That’s the hardest part. I didn’t know to pay attention. I thought I had more time. And now, standing here, watching her stretch into a young adult with a life of her own, I’d give anything to relive just one of those simple, ordinary moments I didn’t realize was ending. 

Sometimes I catch a whiff of her baby shampoo from an old blanket tucked away, or I’ll stumble on a crayon drawing tucked between the pages of a book—and I’m transported back to a version of her that doesn’t exist anymore, and to a version of myself that was so tired, yet so rich in moments I didn’t know were fleeting. 

Parenting is a relentless unfolding of letting go. You raise them to grow, to stretch, to step into who they’re meant to be—but no one tells you how much that growth will stretch you too. How it will ask you to soften, to release, to trust (even though sometimes you are unwilling.) 

So, if you’re a mom in the thick of it—chasing toddlers or navigating teenage eye rolls—take a breath. Look around. Savor the chaos, the cluttered kitchen counters, the endless questions, the mismatched socks because there will be a last time for all of it. 

And when those lasts come, let yourself grieve. Let yourself feel the ache of a chapter closing, because it means you loved it well. But also, take heart—because every “last” makes space for a new kind of first. Different, yes. But equally just as beautiful! 

Motherhood is not just a series of firsts. It’s a lifetime of loving through the lasts, too.  

And I’m learning, slowly, that both are worth holding onto. 

(Paige Gurgainers is a mom of three girls, digital journalist for Webster Parish Journal.)