I had no idea that the last bedtime story I read my kids would be the last ever . Or that the last time I held them — or kissed a scraped knee or sang them a silly song — would be the last time I'd do any of those things. That's a good thing, of course. It saved me, at least in the moment, from the pain of knowing those sweet little rituals were coming to an end. But realizing it later opens the door to a new awareness of just how quickly it all goes. And, for me anyway, a new dread that it