Firsts & Lasts

When a day carries more than a date

There are firsts after someone dies: the first birthday, first holiday, first anniversary, first trip alone, first time returning somewhere you went together. There are lasts too: the last birthday together, the last conversation, the last meal, the last ordinary morning you didn't know would become a last.

And then there are moments nobody warned us to count:

The last spoonful of blackberry jam he had made.
The last T-shirt of his you wore until it finally gave out.
The first time you walk into a room and don't expect him to be there.
The first time you laugh and notice that you laughed.
The first time something that belonged to him feels as though it is in your way.

A date or object does not have to mean something simply because someone else thinks it should. But sometimes a first or last catches us with a weight we didn't expect. I learned that too.

Before

If you know a difficult date is coming, you might notice what happens as it approaches. Maybe you dread it. Maybe you are already grieving it. Maybe you feel nothing. Maybe you want to honor it. Maybe you wish everyone would stop reminding you. Maybe you don't know.

There isn't a feeling you are supposed to summon because the calendar says this day matters.

What Do I Want to Do With This Day?

You may already know. You may not. Sometimes it helps simply to remember that there is more than one possibility.

Skip it. A tradition does not have to be repeated because it existed before.

Change it. Go somewhere different, eat something different, spend the day alone, invite someone in, stay in bed, go to the beach, or do something that has never belonged to this day before.

Keep part of what was. A meal, a place, a song, a gathering, a story, or something else you still want.

Make something new. A ritual, a letter, a gift, a tree, a donation, a gathering—or something only you would think of.

Do nothing special at all. Let the day be a day.

Or you might begin the day one way and change your mind halfway through it. You do not owe the date consistency.

When the Day Doesn't Behave

Sometimes we prepare for a day we are certain will devastate us, and it doesn't. Sometimes we expect to be fine, and something small undoes us. Sometimes the thing that reaches us isn't the anniversary at all. It is a song in the grocery store three days later.

I learned that at Darrell's grave. I thought I should feel something profound because the date and place seemed to require it. I couldn't summon the feeling I thought belonged there. Then Sarah began to sing, and suddenly I was on my knees.

Neither response was wrong. I simply didn't control when grief arrived or what opened the door.

Firsts Can Come Back

Calling something a first can make it sound as though we get through it once and move on. Life hasn't worked that way for me.

The second Christmas can hurt differently from the first. A birthday may be unbearable one year and tender the next. Something that once brought comfort may later hurt. Something you avoided may someday become something you want. Or not.

You don't have to repeat last year's response simply because it worked then. Grief is not keeping score.

Lasts Can Change Too

A last can seem fixed because the event itself is over. But our experience of it may change.

For a while, an object may feel like a connection you cannot imagine surrendering. Later, it may become something you are ready to release. That doesn't make the earlier need foolish.

I wanted to save everything that was his. Then one day some of those things were in my way. There was no ceremony, no revelation, no prescribed time at which I had finally become ready.

Something had changed. I noticed.

If the Day Is Hard

You may not need to understand why. Perhaps the only useful question is: What would help me stay with this day as it actually is?

That may mean another person or being alone. Leaving or staying. Crying, laughing, sleeping, walking, working, remembering, distracting yourself, or changing your plans. You may not know.

Sometimes there is nothing to solve.

After

You don't have to evaluate how well you handled the day. But later, you may become curious: What surprised me? What hurt? What didn't? Was there something I wanted that I didn't expect? Would I want to meet this day differently next time?

You are not making a plan you have to obey next year. You are simply noticing what this experience showed you.

Next year, more may be true.

A Quiet Truth to Carry

A day can matter without telling me how I am supposed to meet it.