“Non Sum Qualis Eram” (A Letter to Those I’ve Lost Along the Way)

Dear J:

Nine years ago marks the last time I saw you alive. You were so much to me-you weren’t blood but you were undoubtedly my family, my “Canadian Grandmother,” my best friend. I don’t think I ever told you how much you mean to me, and I am truly sorry for that. If I could go back, I would tell you every day how much having you in my life meant (and still means) to me.

Today I ran a 5k for a friend who lost his son too young. I ran and I cried my eyes out with every step. I thought of the memories I have of us together–of Christmases and Easters spent laughing around your table with family and your infamous maple ham. I thought of Canada Day parades in Canmore, and the year you and B took me and Brother to the Stampede and spoiled us rotten. I thought about the Flames games where I sat between you and B and had the time of my life as you explained the ins and outs of the game. I remembered and I cried, and I hurt more than I have in a long time–it feels so long ago, so distant now.

And then I remembered the day when I learned that you had cancer. I remember the phone call and I remember my mother reduced to tears. I remember celebrating with you on Brothers birthday when you went into remission, convinced that you were healed and that you’d live to be a hundred years old. And I remember the Tom Baker days, the Easter when we came to visit you because they had admitted you the night prior to the hospice and were awaiting transfer. I remember the afternoons when my mom would sign me out of my classes early so that we could go spend time with you. The dinners we cooked and took to you every single night even though you couldn’t eat–my dad shaving his head when your hair fell out from the chemo and the radiation. I remember B falling to pieces slowly. The last Christmas with us when you sat shaking at the head of the table, dinner untouched. I remember the last time I saw you alive, the last lucid moment, the last smile I ever got to see cross your face. And I remember the last thing you ever said to me–those words rang through my head today with every step I took.

As I ran today, I realized that the day you left us was the end of my beginning and the beginning of my end. You were a part of my life from day one, my earliest and best memories all involve you; the beginning of my life, the foundation of who I am is in large part shaped by your involvement. Before you passed, you gave me wisdom and strength that I didn’t realize at the time. You knew that my life was about to change and you gave me the framework of the woman I have become.

“Be brave, be strong, be wise, and be wonderful. Be marvelous even when you think you can’t.”

The beginning of my end, J, was losing you. So much about me has changed, and yet I am exactly the same. There have been so many times when I was pissed that you left, when I was afraid that I couldn’t do it and that I was going to fall apart because I didn’t have you to hold me together. Somehow, I’ve made it through. Somehow, I’ve become someone I think you would be happy to have known.

I wonder all the time if I’ve grown up to be who you thought I would be. I wonder if you would be proud.

I’ve fucked so much up along the way, J. I’ve made so many mistakes.

However, I’ve been brave more than I’ve been timid.
I’ve been strong more than I’ve been weak.
I’ve been wise more than I’ve been naïve.
I’ve been wonderful more than I’ve been a disgrace.

About three quarters of the way through my run I stopped at the top of a particularly brutal hill and I took a good long while appreciating the heat of the sunshine on my skin, the beauty of the blue Alberta skies, the sweet smell of the springtime, the sound of the birds singing; and suddenly, the tears stopped and I burst into the loudest, most ridiculous laughter. So much made sense to me in that moment. So many of your lessons came to light and I could have sworn that you were there next to me laughing, too. I know you would be proud of the woman I’ve become because through it all I have finally learned to be marvelous. You were right–life is beautiful and terrifying and all we can do is enjoy the ride. I took a good look at the world around me and the last nine years finally made perfect sense.

I still miss you more than words can say, J. I am still sad that you can’t be here to give me your guidance and the world’s best hugs. That said, today I ran for life, and I promise you this–I am living mine to the fullest.

I ran a personal best today, and I’m absolutely sure you had something to do with that. When I got home, sweaty and exhausted, I realized that no matter how much time goes by, you’ll always be here with me.

“Non sum qualis eram.” That’s going to be a part of my sleeve (I know you hated tattoos, but you also taught me to do what makes me happy, and they’re on my list. I’m still stubborn and painfully so!), and it means “I am not as I was”. I am so much more than I was, and I owe you my gratitude for teaching me to see that, to fight for that, to believe in that. You always saw it in me. I’m living up to that now.

Love you forever, J. I always will.