Wishes.

I look around in my mind for that right place.
There it is.

I quickly dash over to it, drop to my knees, and I nestle into the plush green ground beneath my stomach, resting my chin in my hands. I look out around me—the land reaches out forever. I see tall fields and tiny houses in the distance, with huge billowing clouds overhead that slowly move at a snail’s pace, reminding me that we are moving slowly and surely through this world.

I feel the summer breeze whisper around me, kissing me as it passes by.

Surrounding me in the grass are bright yellow dandelions, bursting like a thousand suns.

I reach out directly in front of me to pluck one that has lost its color—one that looks like a ghost now, fading away compared to the other vibrant ones—but I know this holds magic. It holds wisdom. It holds experience. It’s a wish. I can tell it what I want, and it will carry my wish into the wind like a parachute.

I extend my arm out to examine my hand holding the wish.

I think—what was my greatest wish as a child?

I reach back, way back, to my child-like mind. Back to what I wanted before real life mattered—before anything else mattered—back into all my childhood dreams. I did not wish to be successful. I did not wish to have wealth. I did not wish to travel to the ends of the earth. I did not think about anything extravagant.

Like most little girls, I knew I wanted one thing.

I wanted to be a mom.

I wanted you.

With the weed still twirling in my hand, I think about you. If you could see my wishes—all desires for you—what would they be?

I close my eyes again and I see you.

Little - you

Toddler-you.
Kindergarten-you.
Elementary-you.

Bouncing blonde curls.
Huge blue eyes.
Adorable cheeks.
Bubbling love.

I twist the plucked wildflower between my fingers, my eyes still closed. I feel them burning with hot tears.

During this time, I wish I had more hours in the day, more chances, more opportunities when you were this age. I wish our circumstances had been different, but I have also accepted life as it happened.

I wish you to remember when we finally stopped moving from apartment to apartment and found our first home. I wish you to remember the good. We made warm and good memories; it was safe and sweet.

I wish you to know that I am so sorry for the days I felt like I could not get out of bed—and the days that I did not. Grief and depression are part of the seasons of life. There was a strong part of me that wanted you to forget those days existed, but now I realize it’s important that you remember that we pulled through them. Those seasons passed.

I wish I could go back and change how difficult things were at times. I wish your heart had not been broken by your best friend. I wish you could also see that you did not do anything to deserve that. I hope these experiences make you kinder to others—more empathetic.

I wish you to always remember how your grandparents love you, kept you close to them, took care of you when I was working, fed your belly with homemade dinners, and ran you around to your practices. I wish you always remember the smells of their house and the sounds of their voices—memorize it all.

I wish you always remember the nights you and I would fall asleep under the same covers. To never forget the Halloween costume extravaganzas and Christmas mornings. Saturday mornings making biscuits and gravy. Wearing out your favorite Disney Princess Belle dress for over a year until it was tattered rags. I wish you to remember your favorite childhood movies and never forget to watch them when you are an adult—when you are going full speed through life and just want to remember being a kid again. I wish you to remember all the pets we loved, and the giggles they invoked.

I feel tears slip down my cheeks. Those years feel like yesterday—but those years were years ago now.

I open my eyes and blow away the tiny white buds, hoping they make their way to you.

I am still lying in the plush green grass, surrounded by dandelions, and I reach out to pluck another wish.

I close my eyes.

I imagine you.

Middle school-you

Blonde-highlighted hair.
Blue eyes.
Snazzy outfits every day.

I wish you knew how awkward everyone feels at this age. I wish you knew how pretty you are—how amazing you are. How cool you are.

I wish you knew that one day all that acne is going to be gone, those braces are going to be off, and you’re going to shine like the throwback 2000’s grunge-pop princess you want to be—a trend that is right around the corner.

I wish you to know that you are wise, capable, and to always believe in yourself, especially during the different phases you will pass through.

And I wish you knew how much I truly hate this slime phase.

I wish you knew that you are going to make so many more friends through life, and that some of the friends you have right now are going to be your lifelong friends. Life is a revolving door. People come and go—you’ve got to let them.

I wish you knew right now that it’s going to get easier. These are likely some of the hardest years—socially, or so they feel. Everything just feels super awkward at this age.

I wish you to know that you are powerful.
Smart.
Wise.
Bright.
Brilliant and beautiful.

This time, I blow the wishes away a little more gently.

I open my eyes and reach out into the green pasture in front of me and pluck another weed—finding one that holds as many wishes nestled into it as possible.

Teenage-you

Light brown hair at chin length, because your child-like blonde has now turned into light chocolate. The metal braces are gone. Your smile is captivating. Your eyes are still the same as they always were and always will be—baby blue.

Your face is what I see when I close my eyes.

You are growing into a woman.
You are growing into you.

I wish you follow your compass.
I wish for you to follow your wish—whatever it may be.

Whoever you are, let her bloom.

And each time some petals fall off, that’s okay. It happens. That’s part of the process. New blooms will come. Know that you do not have to stay the same—you can change, you can move, you can vary. That is how you get to know who you are, over and over and over again.

I wish you to go to all the places you have not been but want to see.

I wish you to know that this hard work is going to pay off. You’ll find a car. You will have your license before you know it—and the freedom you’ve been craving.

I see how hard you work at school and at work, and I am proud of you. I wish you to know this.

I wish you to find love—sweet high school romance love.

And if there ever comes a time to let that love go, I wish you to know when that time is.

I gently blow away the small, tiny wishes and watch them fade into the sky.

I pluck one more wish-weed in front of me, close my eyes, and imagine you.

Adult-you

Twenty-five-year-old you.
Fifty-year-old you.
Seventy-five-year-old you.

I wish you to know that if there ever comes a time that we live separate lives, or we are no longer on this earth together, remember that my first wish was you.

My last wishes will not be that you are rich, wildly successful, live in a huge mansion, hold a white-collar job, live on a beach, marry well—or marry at all—or give me grandchildren.

My last wishes for you are simply this:

I wish for you to be safe.
And I wish for you to be at peace.

I slowly blow wishes into the wind and watch them disappear, finding their way to you.

— Grace Ellen Lawrence
Written in 2022