Does that even make sense?
My oldest son is going to be thirty years old in January. That doesn’t seem possible to me. Am I that old? Is my youngest son really going to be 13 in May? Once, I held their little bodies in my arms and fell in love with them. I don’t think I will ever forget those days.
Once, I was published in a book. Like in a library. Those don’t exist much anymore. Libraries or books. But someplace there’s a volume sitting on a shelf with words in it that I wrote and a scrapbook page that I designed. It was amazing, and I don’t think I will ever forget how that felt.
Once, I held a geocaching event and 518 people showed up in my yard. It was the most amazing thing and I don’t think I will ever forget that day.
Once, I stood in front of the Eiffel Tower and I held so tight to the hand of the man that I love truly more than anything that I have ever known. I wore a dress that was huge, and I strolled the streets of Paris like I was a princess and I never take a breath that I don’t think of that day.
Once, I stepped out onto the streets of Venice and for that week, I was famous. Thousands of photographers, mobs of people from all over, pushed and shoved to get a photo of me. It was the single most crazy amazing thing ever and I will absolutely never forget that day.
I am going to live as much of life here as I am able and experience enough that when I am forced to go, screaming and kicking, I hope I can think to myself that I am satisfied with the life I left behind.
Tonight, I watched the movie CoCo with Bill and we both cried at the end. I felt myself thinking that all anyone ever really wants from life is to just not be forgotten.
I pray that somehow in my life I have done something that left a mark large enough that when I am gone someone just remembers me.