What I Will Remember

Memory is funny.

Some things stick and some things don’t.

Often what feels enormous in the moment — or even over years — fades into something we can barely touch.

And sometimes what seems small at the time becomes unforgettable.

It doesn’t feel like we have much control over what stays.

At least I don’t.

I’ve been thinking about this.

The last year of my life has been profoundly transformative.

Excruciatingly painful.

Reaching into the depths of the human experience.

And here I am — after everything —

realizing that what I will remember from this season is not the hospital rooms.

Not the decision to let my dad go.

Not the abandonment.

Not the betrayals.

Not the mindfuck of having to reconstruct my lived reality

.

And it definitely will not be him.

I will remember the moments I showed up.

The times I walked into rooms where I knew I was being watched, judged, measured — and stayed anyway.

The way I used my voice — steady, clear, unmistakable.

The way I solved problems when things felt impossible.

The way I brought people to the table when it would have been easier to divide or to hide.

The way I held steady.

The way I stayed anchored to my values in the midst of relentless wildfires.

The strengthening of belief in myself.

I will remember witnessing myself — fully, clearly — for the first time.

I will not remember the fires I didn’t choose.

I will remember how I walked through them.

How I allowed them to temper me.

How I met myself in the heat and did not turn away.

How I made meaning from the rubble and chose accordingly.

I will remember my courage.

And how, in the end,

I knew myself better,

loved myself more,

and created something extraordinary.