Last Days/First days

Writing With Intuitive Clarity

Aspen Highlands photo by Adam Rinehart

We look for firsts in our lives: a baby’s first step, the first time we met a loved one.

Often we don’t know when something has ended until it’s over and maybe that’s for the best. When something ends and we know it is going to be our last time, it feels sacred. And sometimes it feels scary.

I hear from caregivers for Parkinson’s patients that they struggle with grief and often, it’s because we witness our loved ones seeing their abilities ending prematurely. My own husband can no longer think or plan the way he used to, talk, drive, run or workout by himself, use a phone or walk very far.

In my work as CEO (chief encouraging officer) for Parkinson’s caregivers, it helps to find perspective on the sadness.

Many years ago, Andy and I were dedicated snow skiers who year after year easily put in over 100 days skiing in every season. We met at Aspen Highlands ski area and spent many winters there. With ski seasons in ski areas, not backcountry, there is always a last day. There is reverence around it and skiers both dread and welcome the last day of each season.

There was a year we skied at Aspen Highlands when the last day was unusual because it was a powder day. Every single run from 9am until 4pm was untracked because it was snowing so hard our tracks filled in during the chairlift rides. For any non skiers reading this, powder snow is the best and untracked powder is the crème de la crème of all skiing.

Every run was magnificent that day.

As the afternoon shadows deepened we realized it was almost over. On the very last run of the very last day, after the chairlifts had stopped running, Andy told me, “Make it a great one since it’s the last one.”

We did. I can still feel the euphoria 48 years later. Is there a way to hold on to that? We moved away from ski season and into spring art shows, traveling in our camper, and running on state park trails all over the USA. The euphoria shifted into quieter and steadier things.

Andy and I skied so many seasons together that I cannot count them all. Now in our later years, we no longer ski together, do art shows, travel in our camper or run.

All these parts of our lives ended on a last day. Yet I don’t feel grief because I have many new “firsts” and the euphoria continues from the new sources. I don’t believe we have to be bound to the grief over our loved ones with Parkinson’s having last days as long as we don’t allow these last days to also end their first days.

Caregiving can be a time of introducing new first days to our patients and ourselves.

I’m writing from London, England, where we are spending the summer of 2026 to help our daughter and son in law. For Andy, who can no longer do many things because of Parkinson’s disease and for me, his caregiver, we are excited because of all the “firsts” we are experiencing.

- First time living a whole summer in London.

- First time Andy will be working out with a British trainer at the gym.

- First time Andy can watch the Tour de France live on TV because there is only a one hour time difference.

-We are at the beginning now and have no idea what other “firsts” will come our way.

I experienced a first that I had thought had been a last day many years ago. Our son in law was out of town and I slept next to our daughter in her bed. I thought those days were over and sleeping next to her felt even sweeter because I had thought that.

I wonder if we could simply choose not to fret over our last days?

I wonder if we could learn that we need to have last days in order for new firsts to come along?

I wonder, can we learn that time, in the form of beginnings and endings, is a natural process and that firsts and lasts are part of the continuum of this wild ride we are all on?

A shout out to my Flow For Writers Class on Substack!!! The Ampersand Mindset Dave Ricci Kelli Etheridge