From You to You
Write a letter to your 14-year-old self. Tomorrow, write a letter to yourself in 20 years.
Yesterday, we wrote to our 14-year-old-selves. Today, we’re looking ahead. That’s harder. We really don’t know if we’ll be here in 20 years, or even in 20 minutes! But I’m going to assume I will be. I’ve chosen to follow through with this prompt rather than the one that is posted for today about looking out a window and then describing what you see. I like this idea better.
I was pleased when this picture showed up on my Facebook feed yesterday, because it really is worth 1000 words:
Dear 88-year-old Linda,
It really is still me in there, behind the wrinkles and the grey and the moustache and beard I have to deal with every day! Sometimes I’m shocked when I look in the mirror because I don’t recognize that strange old lady looking back at me.
Then I do. It’s me. Believe it or not, I’ve reached this grand old age, and I look every minute of it. By the way, I know I should be saying “It is I,” not “It is me.” Just so you know I know 🙂
I’m a widow. Terry’s body gave in faster than mine, what with all the pain from his injury to his foot all those years ago. I miss him every day, and I look forward to seeing him in heaven.
My kids are all grandparents, some of them great-grandparents. I have many descendants, which is a delight to me, and something I wish I could share with Terry. He would have loved seeing them all together.
I finally started writing seriously after Terry died. I had more time, and even though I still worked for a while at my counseling office, I got busy doing some writing for publication. The rejections were hard to take. Still are. I’m not done yet. But I’ve had a few things published, including a couple of books. My mom would be delighted. She always encouraged me to write.
I live in a nice, adequate assisted living apartment. Because of the books, I can afford a good place. I’ve made some good friends here, and we joke with each other about the lines of people waiting for one of us to die so they can have the apartment. You don’t take death quite so seriously when you get to be our age. It’s coming, no avoiding it. For some, it will be a release. Pain and old age come in a package.
I’m a year older than my mom was when she died. I think she would have lived longer if she hadn’t had such awful back pain. I have the same condition she did, but there’s better treatment these days, and I’m grateful for that.
My mind is still pretty good. I forget silly, day-to-day stuff like where I put my glasses, but I still know who I am, and who my family is. I try not to bore people silly with stories of when I was young. After all, we all used to be young, we all have our own stories. Some of the people here are wonderful to listen to. Others, not so much. Just a litany of their pains, disappointments in life, nobody comes to see them, blah blah blah. Doesn’t surprise me no one comes to see them. They’re no fun.
I still love my God. I still wear out my Bible, and the older I grow the more time I spend in prayer. The closer I get to heaven, the more real it all becomes.
I’ve had a wonderful, blessed life. I’ve had the love of a good man, the pleasure of children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and even one great-great-granchild. One of those five generation pictures everyone enjoys so much. A lot has changed on the political front, Things are very different now than when I was young. I know it won’t be long until the Lord comes to take His people home to heaven. Maybe I’ll live long enough for that, and maybe I won’t.
Either way, that’s my final destination.