The Life They Never Got to See...

There is a strange kind of grief in realizing my parents never really got to know the woman I grew into.

My dad did, a little. My mom, not so much.

Life keeps moving whether we are ready for it or not. We grow, we age, we change. The person we were a decade ago barely resembles who we are now. Sometimes even the version of ourselves from a year ago feels distant. And I find myself wondering often if they would be proud of the person I became.

I think about my mom a lot when I’m out thrifting. I know how much we would have loved spending entire afternoons wandering antique stores together, pointing out things we didn’t need but absolutely appreciated. She loved a good deal, and somehow that became part of me too. It’s funny how those little things get passed down so naturally that you don’t even notice until years later when you see your own children doing them too.

I thought about my dad recently while helping a friend sort through family jewelry, trying to figure out what was valuable and what was costume. Somewhere along the way, all those little lessons he taught me about vintage pieces, markings, craftsmanship, and what to look for quietly stayed tucked away in my brain. Things I didn’t realize I remembered until I needed them.

And I guess that’s the thing about losing people you love. They leave in one way, but stay in a hundred others.

There are still so many parts of me they would recognize immediately. But there are also parts I’m sad they never got to see. A more confident version of me. A version that finally found peace with who she is. A mother raising two really incredible young adults. A woman still married to the same amazing person after twenty-four years together, after all the chaos and changes life brings.

I wish they could have seen this version of my life. Not because it’s perfect, but because I finally feel comfortable in it. I think they would have loved watching the ordinary moments most - dinners around the table, conversations with my kids, road trips, antique stores, traditions, laughter. The little life I built out of all the pieces they gave me.

I like to believe they still see it somehow.

There are days when I’ll get ten reminders of my mom in a row and it feels impossible to ignore, like she’s standing quietly beside me. Then there are other days when I wonder if I turned out how they hoped I would.

But maybe the fact that I still carry them in so many parts of my everyday life is the answer already.

I hope they’d be proud.