I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason bringing something we must learn and we are led to those who help us most to grow if we let them and we help them in return.
This Winter, for one reason or another, this song kept appearing. I’m getting old and words like that have a bigger effect on me than they used to. For the first time, sitting in the car on my way to someplace or another, I started thinking about who those people might be. Who were the ones who taught me something? Who were the ones who changed me, for better or for worse? At first, there was one who kept coming to me, but soon another joined her, then another. It has been hard to get that list out of my head.
After so much thinking back, I think I’d like to tell some stories. I haven’t lived the life most people live, definitely not what I would have chosen given the choice. But there have been people who have come into my life, completely unexpected, and have made me from the young girl who was in trouble to the woman looking back who might just be all right. I’d like to talk about them, to keep those memories fresh in my mind. I’d also like to thank them in my own way for what they did and meant.
I’d like to thank the one I never thought would notice me, the one who taught me to be demanding and loud. Go team.
The one who taught me the value of trust, the one I still believe in, the one I should have married.
The dishonest one I did.
The one who taught me about grief. The one I finally went to in person to thank this year. I put a flower on her grave and a picture of two crazy, happy idiots. Even after all these years I still wish I could call her. I could use her some days.
The one I could always fall back on.
The one I could say anything to, even the worst of it.
The voice that always cuts through the noisiest moments.
The one who helped me find my faith when it was dropped.
The one who reminded me when it was needed most. The one I have to believe is safe and happy even now.
The one who gave me what I needed. Happy Valentine’s Day, sort of.
The one who reminded me I wasn’t quite done yet.
The one I’ve done everything for for 20 years. My motivation and my brightest hope. My deepest grief, these days.
And not last, the dandelion in the Spring. The bright yellow that meant rebirth instead of destruction. That’s cheesy as fuck, but I’m still writing it.