Somewhere Between Then and Now

I’m currently sitting on my couch, typing this and crying while listening to “Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac.

I know most people cry to this song, and how beautiful is it that one song can pull such similar feelings out of almost every single person who hears it?

When I listen to this song, I think about my childhood and everything I have grown up through since then. I think about my mom. I think about my grandma. I think about my Barbies that each had a name. I think about my childhood stuffed animals and how each of them was so deserving of a spot on my bed every night because I couldn’t let any one of them feel left out. I think about sitting between my father’s legs on the four-wheeler as he drove us to the creek down the road while watching my childhood dog, Luke, lead in front of us. He always had to be the pack leader.

Somewhere between then and now, my mom’s hair has begun to gray, and if I want to visit my grandma, I have to sit on the ground that holds her gravestone and talk to the sky. My Barbies are somewhere buried deep in a shed, and my stuffed animals have all found their way to the home of another child, though I don’t know where that is or if they are ok or if they each get a spot on someone’s bed. I haven’t seen our four-wheeler in years, and I’m assuming the years have done their work on it. The creek I once knew as a child has completely changed, and if I would’ve known the last day we would spend there together as a family, I would’ve taken a mental image that I would save with me forever.

It’s ironic to me that as a child, I used to dream of being a grown-up and getting to do whatever I wanted, but now I’m 22 years old and sitting on my couch dreaming of the days I really did get to do whatever I wanted.

I miss my home. That little double-wide trailer that used to have blue carpet and wallpaper. The home that had the messed-up back door, and you would have to slam it to get it to shut. I miss the secret spot that held the spare key to that back door. And the big tree that shaded the whole house. The one we used to point at and say, “If that thing ever blew over on this house in a storm, it would do some damage!” I miss the path to my grandma and grandpa’s house that my brother and I would wear thin driving the four-wheeler to and from. I miss seeing my grandpa standing in his yard waiting on us to get to his house to make my brother a “special treat.” I miss the woodpile that watched my brother and me get into physical fights because we argued every time we had to do chores around each other. The same woodpile that sits next to Luke’s grave.

This evening, I stood and stared at myself in the mirror for a few minutes, trying to freeze the time because right now is the closest I’ll ever be to that childhood version of me. And as each second passes, I get further and further away. Right now, I am a young woman. I have long brown hair and a smooth face. My body is strong and healthy, and my hands are so youthful. But I know I’ll wake up tomorrow and see long gray locks and wrinkles. I’ll need a little extra time in the morning to get myself ready because I’m not as fast as I used to be, and I’ll peer down at my worn-out hands that have held every version of the person I have ever been.

I know I’ll reminisce on the version of me writing this, wishing I could be her again for just a moment. To feel what it’s like to be strong and healthy, to put makeup on a smooth young face, and to brush that beautiful long brown hair.

I’m so grateful to be alive, and I’m so grateful to have these memories. It’s such a bittersweet thing, this life is.

Luke at the creek we spent many summer days at.