From Far Away

 Today, I sit beside myself. I see the younger me, and I see me from one week ago. The two are vastly different. They are both different from the me I am today.

Younger me, 19 with a baby and a deployed husband, living in Southern California. I was staying with my FIL and Bonus MIL. I knew little to nothing of the world and just started to learn. I was scared, alone, lost and just trying to survive this new world I had stepped into. California was so big to me and everything I had dreamed of. Being a new mother when I had not even wanted children in the first place. Being a military spouse and learning how it all worked. I was young, dumb, and trying to figure out life. I was scare to drive on the big highways, I marveled at the sunshine and ocean. I was navigating breastfeeding, first foods for a baby and more. I was terrified of the phone calls from overseas that were hastily cut short due to firefights. 

The woman who sits beside me at 33 years old is vastly different. She's been divorced, going through a tumultuous moment in her soon to be done marriage. Living in Florida and balancing businesses as she tries to figure out whether staying here is the best move or going elsewhere with little ones in tow. She is in her married home, sleeping in her own room. She isn't as scared as she once was, but still scared. She is married to the military once more. She has 5 wonderful children now. She's seen the ins and outs of the military and wears her own scars from the life that comes with it. She still loves the sunshine, the ocean and freedom. She has weathered many storms throughout her life.

Today, I am the woman still learning lessons at 33. The things I've talked about doing, but hadn't done. Those are the things haunting me right now. Life is such a fragile and short thing. 

19 year old me was blessed to have met my Bonus MIL from my first husband. Of course my FIL as well but let's focus on her today. She was an incredible, caring person. She had never had children of her own and her husband had passed years before she and my FIL had met. (They never officially married, but were together for 20+ years.) She lovingly opened up her home to myself and my little sweet baby (my oldest, and not little guy anymore). She took me in and loved us and cared for us fiercely. She taught me to slow down and relax, drink that wine. She showed me how to properly care for your home. She loved to listen to the eagles with all of the windows open. She was amazing. Always with a smile and laughter, and would drink coffee and show me the best breakfast burritos on the planet. She taught me self care was important, and to leave the house put together. When she loved you, you knew it and never had to doubt it.

33 year old me from two weeks ago hadn't spoken to her in two years. She'd started to become more and more forgetful until it was realized that she had dementia. That woman that would joke every so often on the phone of being scared her memory was slipping, was ultimately right. It should've been more of a concern. She would laugh it off assure me she was fine. It happened so slowly that you almost didn't notice. Once it was getting bad and she hardly understood what I was saying, I chickened out of calling her. Ironically, I had just had conversations about needing to give her a call.

The me today, realizes she should have called. I waited too long and I let her slip through my fingers. I found out she was in the hospital two days ago. Yesterday I found out, the Lord took her home at 4:55 PM. My whole world feels turned upside down. I should have called. 

What would I have said? I'm not entirely sure.

If I could go back to her lucid moments and tell her once more that she was a pillar in my life and shaped the woman I am, I would.

I did write her a letter and sent it to my FIL for him to read to her. I heard once that your hearing is the last sense to leave your body and doing this brought me some comfort.

This is what I wrote:

Dear ******,

I am sorry. Sorry I didn't reach out more. I got so stuck in my own problems that I didn't want to burden anyone else. After always being honest with you about my whole world, I didn't want you to worry about me. I love you. You were my mother when I couldn't reach out to my own. You showed me California. Islands with ******. Stater Bros with baby ******. Pools, naps, Eagles, Kendall Jackson Chardonnay Vintner's Reserve. Take care of yourself, deep cleaning on Sundays, Vegas at 21, dealing with ****. I regret not reaching out more. I so wish we could go back in time. I'd spend every minute with you. I wish so badly I could have just one more weekend to hear your advice. To tell you how much you are a part of the woman I am. To listen to you talk of growing up with your sister ******. Stories of your father. Talking about visiting your family in P-Town. ***** joking with you over Freaky Deaky Fridays. (I can still clearly here you saying, "Oh gosh, Oh brother, go away!" Breakfast burritos. The park down the road, the white pizzas from the place at the bottom of the hill. 
You helped me navigate my own feelings, my own world, being a new mother. Lifting me up with your faith when I had none myself.
Everyone who knew you absolutely adored you. You were the most vibrant, loving, fun person in the room. An unmistakable laugh, and always read with understanding. Offering advice when needed. Your friends will all miss you. No one in the world will be the same without you.




It's time I close this post out as my crying has been so much the last few days and I just needed to get this out.

If you take anything from this post, it's to tell the people you love, care for, and who've made an impact in your life that they are important and loved.

Life is much too fragile and short to not.