Yesterday marked five years since I last woke up next to her. Five years since I last kissed her. Five years since I last told her I loved her.
I know these must have happened, because they happened every day, but I don't remember them. I didn't know it would be the last time, so they didn't have enough emotional salience to stick in my memory. I think this must be true for most "last times". Sure, sometimes you know in advance - the last day at a job you are leaving, saying goodbye to a terminally ill relative, a last date before you break up. But mostly we don't. I don't remember the last time I read my son a bedtime story, or the last time I was able to pick him up and carry him. I just assumed there would be another time, and there wasn't.
Firsts are much more memorable, because you know they are firsts. "This has never happened before," your brain goes, "better hang on to this." I remember my first kiss, and my first kiss with Jess. I remember our first meal - bacon with plum sauce and stir-fried veg - and I remember the first tine I heard a Weird Al Yankovic song - it was that evening. (No wonder I fell in love with her.) I remember my son's first recognisable word - "Eyeore" - and his first day at school.
But, admittedly, sometimes firsts get lost in the mists of time too: I don't recall my own first day at school, or even at university. I don't remember when I first told Jess I loved her, or when she first said that to me. I don't know what our first text messages or emails were. And some lasts also stick in the mind: I remember my last words to Jess, although I don't remember her last words to me. I do at least have her last DM to me: "You are the best. Thank you."
I don't remember the context. I don't need to. In the absence of other memories, those are good last words.
