Listen Up, Future Self!

Dear 99 Year Old Angela,

By this time, you know what happens in our life more than I do.  You know our disappointments, which of our dreams have come to fruition, and how some of those dreams have been reshaped into wonders I cannot yet imagine.

You may not have kept this Saturday in your special box of memorable days.  Days at the zoo can blend together, pushing the increasingly heavy double stroller over the cement paths, opening Goldfish, peering at monkeys for just a few minutes longer than an adult finds necessary.

But this Saturday was different.

You dragged your heels about going, a fuzzy-headed cold and a few nights of interrupted sleep compounded a nagging feeling of restlessness, of not being appreciated outside of your role as a mother.

You went through routine motions: automatically packing snacks and filling water bottles, applying sunscreen and remembering the stroller brake outside of the butterfly house.

Resentment bubbled under the surface of your smile.

Then something shifted.

It began on the carousel, a new fixture at our zoo, the animals still shiny and smooth, unblemished by errant wads of gum and the residue from sticky, chubbily childish hands.

Abbey’s infectious giggles coaxed out a real smile as she primped and posed, “Take my picture, Mommy!” reminding you that you hadn’t used the camera as much lately.

By the time we reached the prairie dogs, an underappreciated animal, cute and spry, the bubbling resentment had dissipated.  Abbey patiently helped Dylan into the children’s viewing area, holding his hand instead of pushing him away, quietly encouraging him and relinquishing her turn, with a smile, in a reasonable amount of time.

Of course, we had to remind Abbey fifty-nine times that she needs to tell us before jumping out of the stroller.

Dylan fell asleep as we ambled to the car, slept during the ride home, and refused to nap the rest of the day.

You forgot to refill your enormous zoo member diet pepsi cup before leaving.

Yet the day ended without the discontentment and resentment with which it began.

So today, I want you to remember that Saturday in October, warm and lovely, leaves just beginning to glow red and orange in the sun.

Remember how a small hand sliding into yours can ease worry about what will tomorrow or the next day or the one after that.

Remember to be present.

With love,

Angela, October 2011

P.S. You don't look a day over 93.  I promise.

This week’s prompt: Write a letter to your future self or your child.

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