Sometimes I wish the last time would come with a warning.
Like a car alarm, maybe. Or something more subtle—like the chirp of a smoke detector when the battery runs low.
Because so often as mothers, we don’t know the last time is the last…until its absence stops us in our tracks.
When was the last time I held my son’s hand in a parking lot?
Braided my daughter’s hair before bed?
Poured a cup of water over a shampooed head in the tub?
It’s those ordinary moments—the ones I didn’t know to memorize—that hit me hardest once they’re gone.
So many simply slip away when I’m too busy to notice their quiet exit.
They’re replaced, of course, by new routines, fresh experiences, different memories.
But as my kids stretch and grow, I fade—almost imperceptibly—a little more into the background.
We know that’s how motherhood goes.
We trust it means we’re doing something right.
But still.
No one warns us about the goodbyes hiding in plain sight.
And they leave our hearts aching…but full.
-Her View From Home
