Lately I’ve been thinking about how many last times slip by when you’re raising a child. The last time he crawled into my lap. The last bedtime prayer said the same way. The last time he needed help with something he can now do on his own. None of it felt big in the moment. It was just life, happening like it always does. I’m so incredibly proud of who he’s becoming, but my heart still holds the versions of him that have already passed. The small hands. The routines. The way he once needed me so