We Didn't Know It Was The Last Time

I don’t think any of us realized how many “lasts” were slipping by unnoticed.

We were too caught up in the countdown to graduation to notice the moments quietly disappearing — like the last time we’d rush through the parking lot in the freezing cold, or the final time we groaned at a algebra quiz in the fourth block.

The last football game came and went. We cheered under the Friday night lights, half-losing our voices, thinking there’d always be another game, another reason to huddle on the bleachers with our friends. No one said, “This is it.” We just got up afterward and went home. But that was the last time the field felt like ours.

I didn’t realize the last bell would ring without ceremony — just a sound I’d heard every day for four years, except this time, it meant I’d never walk these halls again as a student. It echoed, and we barely looked back.

The last time I closed my locker, it clicked shut like always. But I didn’t know it was for good. No more scratched-up mirror, no more crumpled notes shoved between textbooks, no more pretending I didn’t hear it when someone called my name down the hallway.

I didn’t know that was the last night I’d stress over homework, the last time I’d complain about a due date, the last time I’d sit up past midnight because I didn’t want to bomb a test the next day. I hated it in the moment, but part of me misses having something that simple to worry about.

And then, as I was clearing out my bookmarks on my computer — old essays, group project folders, study guides with titles like “FINAL FINAL real this time” — it hit me again. Just like the locker, this was a digital goodbye. Quiet, unceremonious, and a little sad. I didn’t realize how many parts of my life I had tucked into corners of a screen until I had to let them go.

Somewhere in between all that, we were handed those tiny pink papers and told to gather signatures — proof we’d returned everything, signed everything, finished everything. Like a scavenger hunt signaling the end. And as we walked from classroom to classroom collecting initials, it felt like we were gathering pieces of our own closure. A checklist of goodbyes.

I didn’t know that was the last night I’d stress over homework, the last time I’d complain about a due date, the last time I’d sit up past midnight because I didn’t want to bomb a test the next day. I hated it in the moment, but part of me misses having something that simple to worry about.

The last time we sat at our lunch table, we didn’t even take a picture. We didn’t know to. There was no speech, no countdown, just one more laugh, one more “You going to class?” before we scattered to different corners of the building — and never really came back the same way.

I thought the end would feel bigger — louder, more obvious. But the truth is, high school didn’t end with graduation. It ended with small, quiet moments we didn’t realize were slipping away.

It ended with a final touchdown, a final bell, and a final locker slam.

A final bookmark cleared.

A final signature on a tiny pink paper.

So if you’re underclassmen reading this: look around. You’re living your “lasts” without even knowing it. And if you’re a senior like me . . . I hope you felt it all.

Thanks for the memories.

This is a graduating senior, signing out.