I am not naturally a morning person, but I try to get up reasonably early because I like the quiet time alone with my coffee and my thoughts. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I just sit and think. This morning I happened to listen to a lesson on mindfulness. It was a discussion of a truth that most of us would rather avoid: everything we do in this life, we will do only a finite number of times. For every experience, every interaction, good or bad, there will be a last time. It can seem like a heavy thought at first, but the point is an important one: isn’t it better to be mindful of this reality than to just let all those last times slip by without really experiencing them, much less appreciating them? How much more would we savor even the seemingly mundane moments if we were only a little more mindful of how precious they really are, how this time might be the last time? And it’s true not just for the good things, but for the difficult and painful ones as well. Wouldn’t we suffer a little less if we could remain mindful that this too shall pass away?
So that was the thought with which I started my day, but eventually I had to put it aside and get going with life’s practicalities. Martha is out of town this week, so I’ve been taking Abby to school each day, and this week happens to be “snack week” for us. Each week a different student in her class is responsible for bringing the snacks for the day - things like carrots and hummus, or maybe chips and salsa. Today was apples and pretzels, enough for 30 hungry 4th and 5th graders. Let’s be honest: it’s a bit of a chore. It requires some planning, some organizing, and some shopping, which Martha mercifully did for me (thank you!). And although the beautiful, historic arts and crafts building that is home to Virginia Chance School is nearly idyllic on the bluff overlooking the Ohio River, it also involves many, many stairs. Apples and pretzels for thirty is a lot for a 10-year old to carry, so instead of the regular carpool drop-off, I’ve been parking and walking in with Abby these last few days, and I confess, my inner dialogue might have included a grumble or complaint as I contemplated lugging snack bags up the steps. There might have even been an eye roll. Fortunately today, my morning listening had me in a more appreciative state of mind. I even felt gratitude for the apple-lugging opportunity. I’d like to tell you that is the norm, but I’m not that good (yet).
With snacks successfully delivered, I hugged Abby and said goodbye and made my way back out to the car. I stopped to say hello to Debbie, our wonderful Head of School, who was minding the last few minutes of carpool. Debbie asked how I was doing, and I shared with her that we were busy delivering snacks this week. Now, Debbie has a gift for saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right time, but even she could not have known how her next words would land. She smiled and said, “Oh, this is probably the last time.” Gasp! She was right. Despite my morning spent being mindful of the reality of last times, it had not occurred to me that I was smack in the middle of one until she said it. You see, Abby is a 5th grader, and Virginia Chance School ends at 5th grade. Next year is middle school. It’s March, and with thirty kids rotating through the snack schedule, our name will not come around again before the school year ends. Abby started at Chance when she was three, and now she is almost eleven. After nearly eight years, this is the last time. On Sunday night, there were five pairs of bags on the buffet in the photo above. Now there is one. This was the last week for us to deliver the snacks to Abby’s Chance School class. And tomorrow will be the very last time.
I shared with Debbie the strange coincidence of having just listened to a mindfulness lesson on last times, and only after the fact did it occur to me that she herself is likely experiencing a flood of last times right now too. She recently announced her retirement from her role as Head of School, and so as spring unfolds and the school year winds down, I know she will be savoring even the cold, wet carpools even more than normal. On this warm and sunny morning as I felt the weight of last times, I said goodbye to Debbie and headed to my car. I just made it before the tears came, but barely. I am sad, but I am grateful. I am aware that this is the last time, after all, and that is an unusual gift. Too often we don’t see it coming. So as I huff and puff up the many, many steps delivering snacks to Abby’s class tomorrow morning for the last time, I hope I’m mindful enough to appreciate every precious second.