I have always had a relationship with finality.
I remember being a child and watching one of my favorite show’s series finale. It felt heavy. Everything was tied up with a bow, but I didn’t feel happy. I knew that I would never see another new episode. I knew that these people weren’t real, but their lives and their stories felt real. It was as if they were growing alongside me and their failures and triumphs were my own.
The show ended and the actors came out on stage (back then it was filmed in front of a live audience). They were all holding hands and they took several bows. Some of them were crying. They were hugging and talking to each other. Obviously, we couldn’t hear what they were saying as we watched them on our bulky tvs. But, I imagined they were saying what we would say in real life, saying what should have been said the whole time and not just at “goodbye”.
It’s somewhat like an obituary. We say all of the most meaningful and heartfelt things after someone has passed. We feel it so deeply because we know we’ll never be able to say those words to them. We hold out hope that somehow they can hear us and that they knew it all along, even if left unsaid while living.
I’m not leaving anything unsaid.
Here is my obituary to myself before I became a mother. She has died, yes, but part of her still lives and I want her to know how much I love her and appreciate her sacrifice.
Dear Shannon,
While you never imagined you would fulfill this role, you are going to become a mother to the most incredible child. I know. It’s crazy. We never thought this would be our future. While we never pictured it, we were preparing for it the whole time. You were becoming her when you would stroke your niece’s hair as she fell asleep. There were whispers of her when you were brave enough to leave a love that no longer served you and discover love and life on your own. When you navigated the grief of losing your dog and grandfather 3 days apart, it was hard, but she was there. When you found a new love, one that would hold you when you couldn’t quite hold yourself, she was blossoming in the shadows.
There was so much life before you became a mother. You traveled parts of the world that you’ll carry with you to new adventures. You stayed out all night, dancing on tables and laughing with your friends. Your passions led you to meet incredible humans that you hold close, even if far away. You were fiercely brave and would pick up and move at the drop of a hat. You understood that change was crucial for growth and you stretched yourself so far, at times, that you thought you would break…but you didn’t.
You quite literally risked your life to bring new life. You sustained your child with your body for almost a year. Your body was her home and safety.
I will never know a loss like that of losing myself.
It was be the hardest battle I’ve face, but your death was not my end. Instead, it was my beginning.
I will take parts of you with me on this new journey. I will take your bravery and strength. I will take your resilience. The fact that you faced this unexpected path with such fortitude will never be lost on me and I will teach it to our child. She will know you. She will hear stories of the wild hair and barefoot adventures. She will not only hear about your past, she will see you in her future. I will make sure that you are always present.
You see, while you always struggled with finality, I am fortunate enough to watch your slow death and know that this isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of something so much bigger than ourselves. You will live on through our child and she will carry pieces of you.
While I will miss parts of you, I will celebrate the woman I am now. I will look back with fondness and not a sense of loss.
I have grieved you long enough that it has now turned into a willingness to surrender and let the new parts take hold.
It’s time for you to step on stage and take that final bow. I will watch with tears in my eyes, but not because I’ll never see you again. Rather, because I know you’ll be watching as if my new failures and triumphs were your own. You can go now. I’ve got this.
