Year of Firsts

I am in a year of firsts. 

This time last year, 2025, I was in a period of lasts. 

The last flavor-of-the-week ice cream cone, upside down in a cup.

The last tenderloin. 

The last appointment.

The last visit.

ADHD, while grieving, is not a pleasant place to be. 

Some may think that you are taking too long, but in reality, you didn’t allow yourself time to grieve while it was still fresh. 

After the dust settles, it hits you. 

You realize that you still have to make arrangements to have her death date engraved on the existing headstone that she shares with your dad. 

This triggers the grieving for your beloved dad, opens up a wave of emotions that you thought you had dealt with.

You realize that not all of the things are done; there are still things that demand your attention. 

Attention that you don’t have to give. 

Strength that you know is there but you just can’t quite grab it when you need it.

It hits you that it is not finished and actually never will be; then all of the things with living with ADHD come to the surface, and you start your period of letting go while still holding it together. The year of firsts takes on a whole new meaning. 

The first time I had to deal with grief without my mom was when I lost my mom. 

Once Mom’s health had reached the point where I needed to take her to her doctor’s appointments, we would go out for ice cream afterward. 

One day, we didn’t even think about where we were going, and we just ended up at Graham’s. From that point forward, we joked about the car driving itself to get ice cream. 

It didn’t matter if we were in her car or in mine; the car did the driving. 

I know that I was experiencing an automatic response behavior, but we had fun with it. 

It made her smile, and to me, that is all that mattered.

A few years ago, my mom and I started something we would affectionately call the tenderloin crawl. 

We made a list of local restaurants known for tenderloins, and we would go, enjoy a sandwich, then rate them. 

I kept track of this list in my phone, and we would update it as we tried an even better version of our favorite sandwich. 

We were not able to finish our adventure.

One year ago this month, I realized I was in the final days with my mom. 

Our tenderloin crawl would never be finished. 

Her car would never again drive itself to Graham’s for a flavor-of-the-week cone, upside down in a cup. 

“The moment of their last breath becomes a marker, measuring the distance in the space that is left by their passing. There are 365 days to endure. This is The Year of Firsts. I went through The Year of Lasts without knowing it, but when it came to The Year of Firsts, I was painfully aware of every moment.” – Author Unknown