I’m in a reflective state of mind at the moment.  I’m back in the UK – where I grew up – on holiday and while I was here, my sister-in-law died. The last time I saw her was two years ago.  Did I have any sense at the time that that would be the last time I’d see her?  I’m pretty sure the answer would have been ‘no’.

If you’re fortunate, you recognise a ‘last time’ when you’re faced with it.  For example, I have a clear memory from seven years ago.  I was on holiday with my daughter and her two young children.  My granddaughter still needed a nighttime feed, and as she was bottle fed, I offered to do it so my daughter could get some much-needed sleep.

I realised this would probably be the last time I would ever give an infant a nighttime feed, so I deliberately paid attention to everything about that night; the light from the streetlamp outside the hotel room, the soft sleeping sounds of my daughter and grandson, the sensation of the baby in my arms and the gentle way she suckled.

But so often last times slide by us unnoticed until it’s too late.  My brother fell and broke his arm in October and is now, also, coping with cancer.  The last time his son played golf with him was a few days before his fall.  At the time, neither had any idea it would be their ‘last game together’.

Last times creep up on us, mostly unnoticed.  Sometimes – like feeding my granddaughter – we are aware of them, but usually they have passed before we realise. But we can’t go around wondering if someone we’re seeing, or something we’re doing is for the last time.

After my husband told me he wanted a divorce, I was very conscious it was probably the last time I’d see him, the last time I’d set foot in my home of twenty-odd years, but before that moment, would I – should I – have sensed the last times of us going out for dinner or a movie, the last time of cleaning our home, picking up his dirty laundry from the floor?  And if I had, would it have made things harder or easier. 

Does it even matter now?

With my sister-in- law’s funeral coming up soon, my brother and I have been going through old photo albums searching for photos that celebrate her wonderful life.  In the process, we also came across photos or me and my kids… and my ex-husband.

After my ex left me, I got rid of all of the photos of him except for one.  (Don’t worry, I didn’t destroy them – I gave them to him and the kids.). And I’ve never regretted getting rid of them. That was then.  This is now.  But…

After all these years, looking now at the photos my brother took of me, my ex and the kids I found I could look at them –  dispassionately’s not the right word, but the emotion of those early days has completely gone.  I can now look at the photos and remember the good times.  Not the last times. Not the two years of horror and heartbreak.

Hmmm.  I feel like I’m slightly getting off track here with what I’m trying to say.  What AM I trying to say??

When I say my sister-in-law lived a wonderful life, I mean it.  The pictures bear it out. Hers was a life of love. Her love for her family and friends. Her love of life itself.  You can see the joy in her face, her smile never fading even as the years gathered speed.

Although I didn’t realise it was the last time I would see her, ‘the last time I saw her’, I find myself grateful for all the times I did spend with her.  I am glad she was in my life.

Just as, looking at those photos of my ex and I, I’m glad he was in my life, if for no other reason than if he hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have the kids and grandkids I love so much.

So perhaps last times don’t matter.  (Unless, like with feeding my granddaughter, you are aware it’s a last time and you can relish a beautiful moment.)  It’s life’s moments, every single moment, that matter.

One day there really will be a last time for all of us, but if we can spend our time until then with the people we love, aren’t we lucky.