But I do. I remember. And I remember it so well, as if it were two days ago, rather than two years ago.
It's in the way the sun sets at a disagreeable hour.
It's in the smell of pumpkin spice in a nearby coffee cup.
It's in the warm days and the cool nights, in the incomprehensibly perfect light that is cast in the mid morning on the cornfields--a light that God clearly mastered and set aside for just two perfect weeks of October.
It's in the crimson leaves that crunch beneath my sneakers.
It's in the sweaters I retrieve from their summer hibernation.
It's just...there. Everywhere. I fail at trying to miss it.
And the memories flood at the most inappropriate times...
When my mother wishes to show me how she's redone my old bedroom, and all I can picture is my suitcase undone in the corner.
When I'm driving down Briley Parkway, and my only thoughts are of that early morning drive to the airport so I could be with my sister.
When I look for something to make for dinner, and I stare at the chicken crepe recipe--the recipe that sat fresh in my stomach while he told me he was done with me.
Today, I pause and ruminate those memories.
I had one more day, I think. One more day before it would all fall apart.
I close my eyes, sobered by the present knowledge of what was standing on the doorstep to my life.
And I wonder to myself--why does my soul wander back to those days, those hours that I had leading up to it? They're horrible images and feelings...
Nothing a person should willingly recollect, if for nothing more than self preservation.
Perhaps it's because, like the bazillions of times I've watched Leonardo DiCaprio's version of Romeo and Juliet, I think that my ability to know how the story will end can somehow impact the turn of events. That things might be less catastrophic, less painful.
And today, I had a thought--if I could go back in time two years ago and say anything to myself, what would I say?
So, with pen to paper, here is a letter I wrote to the me that was.
****
Dear Chelsea,
It's October 22, 2013, and you have one more day before your whole life will change.
Thursday, you'll have a perfect fall day. It'll be sunny and cool, so make sure Harlow wears her little cardigan with the grey and white stripes. You'll play and watch Sofia with her. You'll go with her to visit your parents. Your mom will give Harlow her first bite of banana pudding, and she'll love it! Your dad will get out his guitar and sing songs while Harlow bounces to the beat.
You'll drive home and clean, snuggle a little bit with your toddler. Feed her a little macaroni for dinner and let her watch Tinkerbell before you put her down.
Savor it. Embrace the simplicity.
Because Thursday night will be hard. You'll get a phone call you would have never thought you would have gotten. He'll say he wants a divorce, and it will crush you. You won't sleep all night, but you'll live to see Friday. I promise. Oh, and there's a prescription for Ambien waiting across the street for you when the Kroger pharmacy opens. Go fill it first thing in the morning.
The next month will be a whirlwind. You'll make an unexpected trip with Harlow to Dallas to see Steph and the kids (Rub Steph's pregnant belly! By the way, it's another girl!). You'll come home with the best intentions for reconciliation, but he will move out within an hour of you getting home. You'll spend a month living in the house with Harlow by yourself.
Your stomach will hurt a lot. You won't feel like eating, but I promise, you will want to eat again. Food will taste good again. You won't sleep much for the next two or three months, but hang in there. You will sleep again, and it will be a sound sleep.
I know this will be hard to hear, but you'll have to move out of your house to live with your parents in early December. I know. I know it's home right now. But it's for the best, trust me. You'll find a good home for Coda and Zoey right before Christmas, but you will miss them very much.
You'll feel like you're wasting away. Like your soul is dying bit by bit. But hang tough! You will find you have so much more endurance than you thought you ever had. You're going to live your worst nightmare and walk out alive. Even better than you were before.
You'll never find that you're so alive as you are when you start digging into your relationship with the Lord. Say goodbye to The Bachelor and Facebook--you're going to be doing a lot of reading the next seven months. You'll grow in wisdom as you draw near to Jesus. You'll learn to love when you thought it was impossible.
You'll journal and blog, and because of your courage to share about the journey you're on, you'll touch many lives who are going through similar situations.
You'll give it the best fight you could possibly give it, and then God will give you a clear moment when it's time for you to lay it all down to Him and move on.
And then, this is where it gets really good.
You'll meet Brooks. He'll teach you to laugh again, to smile, to be carefree. You'll learn that a man can love you with a post-baby body and a post-divorce heart. And yes, I know what you're thinking--and no, you won't ever feel like checking his phone to see if he's cheating. You'll be able to trust again.
He'll ask for your hand in marriage, and you won't be afraid to say yes. "Husband" won't be a dirty word to you anymore. He'll love your daughter as if she were his, and she'll love him as if he were her dad.
Your loss will be restored.
And thousands--yes, THOUSANDS!--will flock to read about your song of redemption.
You'll be so amazed--at God, at yourself.
And although this next patch is going to be the hardest time of your life, it's going to get so good.
Hang in there. The Lord is with you--on the bathroom floor, in a lonely car in a Target parking lot, when you're served with divorce papers two days after Christmas.
When you're in the deepest part of the pit. When you're on the highest peak of the mountain. He will not leave you.
He hasn't forgotten you, Chelsea. He has your beautiful future tucked away behind filthy wrapping, and it's worth every bit of the pain for every bit of the joy that will come.
Oh, and look for pink roses, and save every one you get. You'll understand later.
Love,
Me
******
Is there a time from your past that, knowing what you know now, you wish you could go back and change? Or at least give yourself some preparation, some warning, some context?
I've certainly wished I could go back and change some of my decisions--moments where I wish I had never been married that first time, where I wish I would have agreed to the divorce much sooner, spoken differently, acted differently.
If you're stuck in a place of misery, perhaps it helps to think ahead. To take heart. My perspective was often that things were never going to get better--that my life was over and would never again contain happiness.
But really, don't we know from having lived as much as we have that a pit doesn't last forever? There is a mountaintop at the end of the valley.
Have courage! Have faith! Your world doesn't end here. And consider what encouragement you could be giving yourself two years from now.
I have come to understand that maybe remembering where I was isn't such a curse after all.
It forces me to relive the timeline, where God never let me down and redeemed the ruins of a life lost.
And so, on a chilly October day of the future, I smile at the me of the past.
Because I know how the story will go--and why would I want to change it? It couldn't have been written more perfectly.
She has no idea what lies ahead of her. She has one more day left before her life changes.
And she has no idea how wonderful that life is going to get.
