Some Thoughts on Lasts

I am the memory keeper, the photo taker, the photo organizer. 

When the world has decided to share their memories on faster, moment by moment apps, blogs have become less appealing. 

Blogs used to be the social media. I had so many friends here - I was in a stage of life when we were all 'stay at homes', our children were little, and we spurred each other on to make our homes places of beauty, rest, enjoyment, and mostly wonderful places to raise our littles. 

I am so glad that I started this blog all of those years ago. I know for sure that because I blogged all of their memories that I took way more photos than I would have if there was no place to put them. 

I wouldn't want all of my daughters photos to be squares on my phone. They are all neatly 'tucked away' in folders by year, by month, by event. All of them backed on on external hard drives. All memories I can go back to any time I want. 

I was thinking about all of that lately because I just went to my last viola solisti audition. My last. For the past eight years I watched my daughters practice like never before, dream, wish, and hope to be in this prestigious orchestra. 

I sat in the chair on a very cold January evening waiting for their turn. And after then walk in, I get up, and listen at the door. 

So many of those posts are on this blog of mine. And this is the last one. 

I don't like lasts. But I'm getting used to them. Being a mother for 19 years now, I've had my fair share of 'lasts'. Most of them you don't really know it will be the last. The last time I had to hold their hand the parking lot, I can't remember that one. The last time I gave a little a bath, not that one either. Most of the time we don't decide "this is the last" so it just fades away until  years later we look back and think, oh my, I don't hold her hand in the parking lot anymore. It just happens. 

This time, I knew it was my last. I sat in the cold chair, with the chatter of high school happiness in the hallway, straining to hear every single note I'd heard a thousand times in my living room. 

She walked out this time not pleased with some of her pieces, and over the moon with others ("I've never done sight reading better in my life" -- the hardest part) 

I was proud of her.

We walked out together; I begged her for a quick picture. 

And that was it. The last. The last audition. 

I am so grateful to be a viola/orchestra mama. Oh how that music brought so much into our lives, our family, our years. At least I know that a bow on strings will never ever be a last.