Call Me Kat

When did the face change into one that strongly resembled another from long ago?

This isn’t the face that belonged to the vibrant young woman known for her smile and pleasant disposition. That young woman was active—walking miles each day, running to catch a ball, or riding a bike.

The face showing itself today is framed with silver hair, marked with lines worn into it over many years. It resembles other faces, all from long ago, long since gone from this reality into the space that occupies memories.

Her walk is no longer quick and lively. It is slowed, each deliberate step carefully made to avoid the pain that now resides in her joints. Walking miles is no longer a part of her life—but she wishes it were.

The last time she attempted to ride a bicycle, she managed about ten feet before the intense pounding in her chest brought her to a stop. It was a stark reminder of what her doctor had warned: there is no room for a bicycle in her life now.

And yet, that face—that old, tired face—keeps appearing to her.

That isn’t her.

It is the face of previous generations, not her face. Nothing has changed within her. She is still the young woman, full of vitality and a love for life, eager to explore, learn, and experience all that surrounds her.

Nothing has changed.

So why now does that face keep appearing, challenging her to give in to it?

Both women are good and loving people. They share so much, but they are not the same.

And yet, it remains.

This is a new person to me. Someone I have recently met.

Although I like her, I prefer the younger woman.

The young woman has gone away. She has faded into the pages of a journal started decades ago.

This new woman—the one with silver hair, the face of her grandmother and her mother before her—this aging and tired woman looking back from the glass is here now.

A new person to get to know.