Dear Future Sara,
Facebook gave me this idea yesterday. I don’t know if You will remember the “thoughts in the shower that will drive you crazy” post or not, but the part where it said that your future self is watching you now through memories struck me. So….how am I doing? Are you looking back with a smile or with regrets? I hope not the latter. Barring any unforeseen Alzheimer’s or dementia, I’m assuming that seeing the date on this paper will remind you of a million things. You’ve already seen plenty of would have been anniversaries, birthdays, holidays..”the firsts” for me right now. Does it feel different now? Does it sting less? Did we push through it? Even as I write this now, I can somehow sense that we came out of the fire at some point. The question is did we heal or did we run? Alex would have wanted us to dominate and take over our life. Did we? Do you go to bed every night somehow at peace with everything? For both of our sakes, I hope so. I don’t see the future much right now. I hope we took the happiness we’ve had and ran with it. Please tell me we ran with it. I need to know that this “existing” doesn’t go on forever. I think back to the last year often still. I think about the constant fears and worry, the overwhelming sense of dread and dis-ease that comes with feeling Death breathing down our necks. I remember the absolute terror of Alex’s final months – both for him and for me. Do you go back there often? Or do you remember the kiss on the bench at the beach in Trinidad? Do you think back to that same beach only drenched in moonlight right before the move to Juneau? I try to. I try to remember all the laughter and all the love we experienced together. I know that Alex would have wanted me to celebrate those times rather than focus solely on the fact that he’s no longer here. I hope that You, future me, have made that more of a reality than it is now. Truth be told, my only real hope right now is that I’m still somewhere eventually able to read this. I hope we are still strong and still standing. The idea that there is a version of me somewhere – in some part of space and time – that looks back with the wisdom of age and sees the courage it took to claw out of the fire and ashes that followed gives me something to strive for. I just hope it was enough.