To Me, From Me

August 27, 1995

Dear Future Me,

Growing up sucks! My rent's due in a week and I have no idea how I’m going to make it. I need another job. I’m already going straight to work after class; where am I going to work that’s still open after 9:30 at night? I wonder if I could be a cocktail waitress at The Jubilation? Mom always said she made more tips as a cocktail waitress than she ever did at a restaurant. That manager there really gives everyone the creeps. Even if he did hire me, that doesn’t help me now.

I’ll call Ann; she has always been there for me. It’s going to be awkward. I haven’t spoken to her in a while, but I don’t know where else to go. All of my aunts and uncles have been helping Mom, so I don’t think it would be right to ask them. Ann will know what to do even if she can’t help. Two hundred dollars for rent—I still need utilities and another car payment to get me fully caught up. I had to pay the car payment or I would have been two behind and they would have taken my car for sure. I can’t get any further behind.

I’m so tired; I just want to have some fun. School and work take everything. Right now, I only have Sundays off. I can’t lose my car because it is my only escape. Sometimes I just get in it and drive. I sing and think and dream. Last week I drove all the way home; when the Rice Mill came into view, I turned around and headed back. I couldn’t see Mom, but I wanted the familiarity of a secure place. The closer I got, the more I realized security wasn’t there, and it hadn’t been for a long time. I need another job.

Me

March 15, 1996

Dear Future Me,

I kind of wish I wasn’t going to the beach. I want to go, but I really don’t need to spend the money; I’m still behind on that damn car payment. Opportunities like this don’t just happen every day. I asked for the vouchers two days before I quit the Jub. Who knew working there was affiliated with the hotel, and that Paige and I could go to Florida for fifteen dollars a night. The hotel is across the street from the beach, but who cares. Sun on my face, sand between my toes, and a cold beer in my hand sound so good. We are going to have fun!

The reason I don’t want to go just left. Nathan and I met a year ago during spring break. He had a girlfriend at the time, but after they broke up, he started coming out to the club. His roommate asked if I could give him a ride home after I got off. I did, and he asked me out. I called him the very next day to make sure he really wanted to go eat. I didn’t want to waste makeup if he wasn’t going to show. We went out and had a great time, but he didn’t call me back. That was a month ago.

Last week we ran into each other at the club. I was finally there just to hang out. I turned around and he was there. We talked and then went our own way. I turned around and he was there again; we talked and then went our own way. When I turned around for the third time and he was still there, I just asked him if there was something he needed to ask. There was. So tonight was the only night I had free before the trip—we leave in the morning. After dinner, I asked him if he wanted to come into the house while I packed. He did, and commenced to categorizing my collection of leopard shirts. You could say they are my signature. He is getting a zoology degree. He said he wants to take me to the Memphis Zoo to see the leopards in Cat Country. Maybe he wants to be a zookeeper? Right now, he is a grain inspector for the USDA. He kind of works on call. I couldn’t do that. He seems really sweet. What if he doesn’t call me?

Florida will be fun and I will find a way to get caught up with my car payment. I have an American flag bikini and I have painted my nails silver. I am totally going to burn. Four whole days in the Florida sun. Surely he will call when I get back.

Me

September 14, 1996

Dear Future Me,

Well, it happened: I’ve lost my car. I drove it to the bank and I cried all the way back home. I just couldn’t keep up. It’s a good thing my boss promised to make sure I had a ride to work. So far, she has sent someone to pick me up from my house, and her son came and picked me up from school. I tried, but I couldn’t find a ride from school to the mall. Mainly, I’ve been able to rely on my "taxi driver"—that is what he calls himself. I think Nathan’s roommates have been making fun of him for carting me around. He has been so sweet in the midst of the most embarrassing thing that could ever have happened to me. He drove half an hour away and picked me up when I returned my car. He held my hand when I cried but didn’t say a word. He bought me a Mountain Dew to cheer me up when we got back to town. He’s really sweet.

I’ve got to get a real job. I can’t get interested in school, but if I don’t graduate, what will I do? I think I am going to see if I can get a job at the bank. I have teller experience, and it will give me insurance and stability. I could save enough to get a car. I need a car first. What am I going to do?

I thought Nathan wanted to be a zookeeper; turns out that zoology degree was meant for medical school. He took his MCAT last week and he has really been studying hard, but if he gets into school, he will have to move. I don’t want him to move. He will be around all of these smarter girls. They all have degrees and they will look like a better catch than me. I can’t even keep up with a car payment. I’m in love with this guy. Wow, who would have thought that? I don’t want him to go. I love him.

Me

November 10, 2005

Dear Me,

You are fine. You are going to be able to pay your rent and utilities, and Ann was happy that you reached out to her. She told you something that day you called that you will take to heart. She told you she admired you. I know you were shocked; you couldn’t even pay your bills. What is there to admire? But that’s when she told you what would become your creed: “You own your decisions, right or wrong. You take responsibility and don’t flinch at the repercussions.” To this day, you remain the owner of your decisions.

You did get that job at the club. You went to school, to the jewelry store, then worked at the club until 2:00 AM. You didn’t waitress; you carded everyone instead. The worst thing about all of it was you had to take a shower when you got home to wash the reek of smoke out of your hair. You did it for a few months and then determined it was just not worth it. You were worn out. You were ready to have some free time and have some fun. You wanted to get out there and meet someone. You needed a date. You found one.

Today is an exciting day. We close on a new house. That’s right—this is the second house you have owned. Can you believe it? That “we” is Nathan. When you quit working at the Jub, you did take time to just go out and have fun. He asked you out and, after five years together, he asked you to marry him. You couldn’t have picked a better one. You have a daughter, and just yesterday you found out another girl is on the way. She’s going to be due in June and Nathan doesn’t seem disappointed that she is not a "he." That is the reason for the new house. Mom is going to come up next week for a doctor's appointment and by then I hope to have some things moved in. She has had trouble with her hip and it looks like she is going to need surgery. Her pulmonologist is worried because her lungs are bad. I guess that’s what smoking since you were 14 gets you. Looks like my defiance not to be like her has paid off since I have sworn never to be a smoker.

Future Me

January 11, 2006

Dear Me,

Mom died a few days ago. I went up to the hospital after I dropped Cameron off at daycare. She was kind of listless; the nurse was concerned. I left for lunch and when I got back, she wasn’t there. A nurse walked me downstairs—I think it was down. I waited in a very large hallway on a bench. I called Nathan, but he was with a patient. The nurse was nervous. She wouldn’t leave me; that’s when I knew. You don’t leave a pregnant doctor’s wife alone in a hallway when, on the other side of the big double doors, her mother lies dead. Nathan told me the night before that she would probably have pneumonia by the morning and that she would likely not survive it.

Aunt Gail was on her way. When Nathan got to the hospital, he talked to the doctor. I couldn’t see her. Nathan called Aunt Gail and I think she called everyone else—everyone except my brother. I needed to call him. We had gotten into a fight a few days before about Mom not getting any better. Her surgery was fine; it was the rest of her body that was rebelling. She had been sent to and from rehab several times and she was just doing poorly. He had just breezed in complaining; I know he was just concerned, but I was the one there. He wasn’t listening to all of the things she had wrong—things that had nothing to do with her hip and everything to do with life. He was worried and we fought. I ran down to the parking garage and told him I was sorry. I didn’t want to fight. It was a hard call.

The funeral was a farce. The grief was real. My mom wanted to be cremated, but everyone insisted that she be brought back to Stuttgart for a funeral. She was claustrophobic, and they still looked at me like I was the one who would not follow her wishes. She didn’t want to be put in a box, but we did it anyway and all my family was worried about was if I would allow them to play "Free Bird" at the funeral. My brother thought I was trying to run everything. I wasn’t; I was trying to do what our mother wanted. It was all right there, written in her hand, kept in a little wooden box on a shelf in her roll-top desk. We cremated her, but not before they had her put in a box. I wasn’t strong enough to stop it. I should have.

Listen, Florida was fun, but your instinct to stay was right on. What you thought would be a few dates began the life of a true partner. Nathan is a wonderful father and works hard to provide for his family. Beyond that, in my numbness, he stepped in to help guide me through the myriad of decisions that needed to be made. He carefully nudged when decisions were necessary and understood when it was time to go home. He was a keeper from the start.

Just like that, you had to grow up. Those aunts and uncles who were always there to take care of everything were suddenly crippled with grief. You had to stand up and step in. You were not taking over; you were the only one to take charge. It was surreal. Your brother wanted to fight but you were not trying to. He was looking for someone or something to blame for his loss. So you sat there and conceded. You were not trying to override or diminish anything for anyone. You were merely in a different place than the rest of them. You lived your entire life knowing she was going to die. You had prepared for it way longer than they could imagine. She had been sick all of her life and you knew the odds of her making it into old age had always been slim. You were sad but prepared. No one would really understand, so you just sat back and let them have their way.

Future Me

June 12, 2006

Dear Me,

What a year, and it is only half over. Aunt Cathy is vacuuming in the living room. She came yesterday to help out. She and Amy came up the day they induced me, but they had to give me a different medicine and send me home because my water didn’t break. They didn’t come back for the birth on the 8th. They would not have made it anyway. I woke up hurting and when the nurse checked me, I was fully dilated. She kept trying to get me to turn, but I knew as soon as I spread my legs, that would be it. They woke Nathan up and started asking him when was the last time he delivered a baby. The doctor barely got there in time. The nurse held one leg and Nathan held the other. No medicine. That might be a conversation for later.

She is beautiful, but I am really just tired. Between feeding and trying to keep up with Cameron, I am exhausted. I just want to sleep. I think I am going to tell Aunt Cathy to go on home. She has her own kids to worry about. I can’t get used to her help because when it comes down to it, she will have to choose them. They are her kids. I won’t be a burden to her. She has done so much for me over the years and I am grateful, but it is time to grow up. She took me in when she was the age I am now. I think it is time I took care of myself.

Cleaning out Mom’s house was awful. She even had names written on masking tape on the back of a lot of her things, but there were so many decisions to make. I could not have done it without Aunt Gail. She stayed with me for three days and went through everything. My brother came through and picked the things he wanted. Aunt Phyllis came over once, but it was too hard for her. She is the one who surprised me the most. She was always my rock. She was always the one I went to if I needed help with Mom. This time she was just not there. I think she looked at Mom as a child she couldn’t save. I think she felt like she had failed her in some way. I sure didn’t think that. We sent everything to those whom Mom had designated and the rest went on the curb. A lifetime stuffed in black trash bags for whoever got to them first.

I know things seem hard in your stage of life; they are. They will be harder, just in a different way. You will benefit from a partner to share the burden. You will also find profound joy in things you're not ready for just yet. Being a mom scares the hell out of you, but it is the best thing you have ever done. You might not follow formal education, but you are a curious soul and you will always look for answers. You will cultivate talents you didn’t know you had. You remain honest, even to a fault. Your friends love you and they are loyal. You remain true and stand by your creed, dressed in leopard no less. The future looks bright from here, but it could never have happened without the past. No regrets, just lessons. You have good instincts and they will lead you to where we were always meant to be.

Future Me