We’re nearing the end. The Girl’s volleyball has been a constant in our lives for years now. The Girl and volleyball — we can’t imagine one without the other. Two years of middle school volleyball followed by four years of high school volleyball with club volleyball each of those years: it’s all coming to an end in just a couple of weeks.

So often, we don’t see the end coming. We don’t know when we’re in the midst of some last or another. The last time we see this person. The last time we visit this place. The last time we watch someone do something they love. This last, though, is approaching with unrelenting certainty.

I revel in nostalgia. I wallow in it at times. These last few days, I’ve been looking for pictures to send to our volleyball coach for the upcoming senior night, and I’ve found pictures throughout L’s volleyball career, one from the very beginning:

She was the Boy’s age in this picture, perhaps a little younger. She was just learning, and an overhand serve was the stuff of dreams. An overhand jump serve (as if you’d do an underhand jump serve) was something she couldn’t even imagine. Now she does the easily (when the coach leaves her in rotate on the back line to serve, which is admittedly rare these days).

And in a few more games, it will all be over. She’s not going to be playing volleyball college (at last not for the college team — she’ll likely get involved in intermural sports). So we enjoy each game in a way we probably never have.