Dear 100-Year-Old Me,

Wow, what a journey it has been. I can only imagine what life looks like for you now—what wisdom you carry, what memories you hold close. But I know this for certain: every step you have taken, every challenge you have faced, has been filled with love, resilience, and purpose.

I want to remind you of where you began, not just in the world but in your heart. You came into this life early—far earlier than expected—and fought from the very first breath. You carried loss with you, the absence of Nicholas always present, shaping your compassion and understanding of grief in a way that no one else could fully grasp. You grew up navigating the world differently, not always feeling like you fit in, but finding your own path nonetheless. Reading didn’t come easily. Words felt like a mountain to climb. And yet, look at you now—you became a writer, a storyteller, a voice for those who needed one.

You fought through fear and uncertainty when Amelia was born too soon, bringing with it a flood of emotions you had never fully processed from your own birth. You stood in the NICU, watching her fight, and promised her she would never feel alone. And my goodness, has she ever felt alone? Not for a second.

Life with Amelia is an adventure, one filled with laughter, chaos, and wonder. She is a force of nature—determined, fearless, always climbing, always moving. From the moment she could move, she never stopped. She taught you that love is not just in the big moments but in the everyday—holding her little hand, watching her play in the garden, hearing her giggles echo through the house. You have always been her safe place, just as she has been yours.

And Ryan—what a blessing he has been. Steady, kind, patient, the rock you never take for granted. Through the hardest times, he has stood beside you, and together, you have built a life that is full of love. It was never about grand gestures but about showing up, again and again, for each other. You always knew love wasn’t just about romance—it was about the deep, unwavering commitment to walking through life together, hand in hand.

I wonder what Amelia’s life looks like now, at 70 or beyond. I imagine her still full of that same fire, still climbing (though perhaps not as high as when she was a toddler!). Maybe she has a family of her own, maybe she has pursued dreams that you could never have imagined. Whatever path she took, I know you were always her biggest cheerleader, her soft place to land.

And you? You lived a life that mattered. You turned pain into purpose. You helped others feel less alone. You loved fiercely, wholly, without reservation. I hope you still feel that love now, still find joy in the small things, still see the world through the eyes of the mother who marveled at the miracle of her little girl.

So, 100-year-old me, if there’s anything I want you to hold onto, it’s this: you did enough. You were enough. And every single moment, every hardship, every joy, it was all worth it.

With love,

Laura (the you who still has so much ahead)

Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.