Firsts and Lasts --#Sol16 Number 2

Firsts and Lasts

by Natasha L.

http://wasteurtime.com/curiosity_corner/why_do_popcorn_pops/

When you have a child, you experience so many "firsts."  The first kick in your protruding belly as you sit in the darkness of a movie theater.  Or if you are a father, the first time you lay your hand on a blooming belly and even witness the bump of your baby’s jutting limbs. Your wondering child’s small finger tracing the path of a raindrop along the windowpane. The first kernel popping magically turning into full blown popcorn. Your child's little feet jumping up and down with sharps screams of excitement as each kernel pops into the bright green bowl. The first snowflakes falling from the sky as you and your child sing,

"If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops?

Oh what a rain that would be.

Standing outside with my mouth open wide.

Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh.

If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gumdrops?

Oh what a rain that would be.

If all the snowflakes were candy bars and milkshakes?

Oh what a snow that would be.

Standing outside with my mouth open wide.

Ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh.

If all the snowflakes were candy bars and milkshakes?

Oh what a snow that would be."

(http://artists.letssingit.com/barney-lyrics-if-all-the-raindrops-bm6sbcq#axzz41n6E7a2o)

I never thought I would say this, but my “Ahh-ahh-ahh” has slumped into a blah. Raindrops and snowflakes are simply wet elements falling upon me along with whatever else life pours.  The shining sun is more a reminder of outdoor days I can rarely enjoy unless I pay a kind sitter to sit with my dad. My dad whose memory has been slowly eroding. He will sometimes ask me where did we just come from? What did we just do? The first moment of incredulity quickly turns into a habitual "Again and Again" response: you just saw a concert, you just attended church, yes you have taken your memory medication, no, it's Monday today.

Now with my father his lasts are his firsts and his firsts are his lasts.  Memories have been erased or merged into one. He will sit in a concert hall and tell me, “Wow, this is the first time I have been here” though he has been in that concert hall in the past. The glory of firsts still sneaks in under the curtains of Alzheimer. Likewise, my father experiences the death of friends and families who died recently or long ago for the first time as if the last news of unexpected death was not enough of a blow.

And then I wonder, like yesterday when he made his way to the poll, walking bent and slowly with his cane,  will this be the last time he votes? Will this be the last time we celebrate this holiday together? Or maybe the first in my situation. My parents were divorced ever since before I can remember. My sister and I would see my dad on weekends, some weeknights, and some holidays. However, now he has come to live with me since his separation from his second wife. Thus many holidays we celebrate together year round may be our last yet our first. Indeed, this is the first time, I have lived 24/7 with my father. He has come to my home to live his last days. I have worked hard to forgive him for not sharing on a daily basis his first energetic-self days. The first and the last. I have forgiven.

I may leave this earth before my elderly father. As I hit the bottom of my dry well, as I bump into a sense of fatigue and weariness. As the joy of life simply slips out from the back door of my life, I need to turn my “Again and Again and Again” experiences into moments of presence in my mind and heart. As I witness my father’s memory come in and out like waves in a shore, I need to stop, notice, and remember.

I need to remember to turn my ‘Agains” into “Firsts.”  Firsts morph into "Again and Agains" and finally "Lasts" before we know it.

My teenage son’s firsts will turn into my lasts. Gone are the snuggly nights of bedtimes stories, gone are the sitting on the lap days. Gone are the sensations of his little fingers grabbing my hand as we cross the streets. His first will become my lasts: his first college years will be his last full years at home, his first job will be the last allowance (youpi!), his first apartment...

I need to get on my knees and pray (or maybe also shriek and jump) for joy and excitement. I need to release myself from my kernel and let myself flourish into flying popcorn (with a little butter at my age). Most of all, I need to remember the pastor’s sermon as he shared these wise words by Rabbi Heschel, “Our goal should be to live life in radical amazement. ....get up in the morning and look at the world in a way that takes nothing for granted. Everything is phenomenal; everything is incredible; never treat life casually. To be spiritual is to be amazed.”