I’ve been thinking about her quite a bit this week.
Someone’s been trying to access things that are protected for a reason. (You know who you are. You also know the password if you just used your initials.) And it prompted me to read some things I haven’t read in a while.
Which instantly brought me to tears. Which is currently bringing me to tears. Because I thought of her.
I distinctly remember when she was on her knees at her bedside with the phone on speaker. She couldn’t believe the words that were being said on that phone call. She tried to make sense of it, but absolutely none of it did. At first, she thought it was kind of a joke. But then reality slapped her in the face and she felt like someone was trying to pull her down into the water- making it so hard to breathe.
I remember her at Disney World for the first time as an adult. It was supposed to be an exciting and fun trip. But there she was, hiding under the covers in the hotel room holding in her sobs so her friends wouldn’t hear. Again, she felt like she couldn’t breathe.
Then there was the night when every question spiraled in her head about what she did wrong. The entire drive home she cried the most heartbreaking cry. Tears so big she could hardly see the road. Cries so strong she almost made herself throw up. In that moment, she didn’t want to breathe.
For months it went on like this. I remember the weeks she wouldn’t eat. When just a bite of scrambled eggs made her want to hurl. I remember how she couldn’t rest. How she rolled around in bed anxiously and woke up every other hour through the night. I remember the fear she had sleeping on her own and just being all alone. Even now she still keeps a night light in her room. I remember her waking up every Sunday with panic in her soul. Each week she grew more and more aware of what she had lost.
If I think hard enough and wait just enough, I don’t just remember what she went through, but I can feel it too. Like a fresh slice across my heart.
And though I remember her so vividly, I don’t think I am her anymore.
Because remembering implies reflecting on something that happened in the past. Something that is probably over. Something that might not exist anymore. And I remember her so well because I can look back and see her, but I look in the mirror now and I don’t see her anymore.
Every now and then she’ll reappear. The other day at Don Quijote she was almost there. In many ways and in many places and in almost all memories, she’ll always be there. But it’s not just her anymore.
Now there’s the girl who did it all on her own. Who reestablished herself and pulled one foot in front of the other through each excruciating moment. I’m learning more and more about her every day.
Like how she has now become someone who exercises multiple times a week- even multiple times a day- because she enjoys it. How she has read over fifteen books this year alone. How she Googles whenever there is a problem with her phone or computer instead of relying on someone else. How strong she really is for getting through that season. How much she really does deserve someone who will try to fight for her. How incredible of a woman she’s always been.
I love this version of her.
I certainly remember who I was, but I’m excited about who I’m becoming.