If Ever Murdered or Kidnapped

You know that meme, the one that says, “If I’m ever murdered or kidnapped, please don’t make up lies about me.” (If you don’t- go find it.)

This meme makes me laugh, unnecessarily hard actually. I find it extremely relatable. Upon growing older, despite my sweet daughter’s insistence that I’m 23 or 28, or anything under 30, I’ve been taking a lot of time to reflect.

Here’s how I imagine mine goes:

Her smile did not light up a room. It was often uncertain if her smile even existed. Upon meeting her, you questioned your status immediately. If you made it through the screening process, you would learn, there was a smile hidden there. If you wanted to see it, you had to earn it.

Her mouth, it was pirate worthy. Her filter broke the day she learned her child’s heart was broken. That was the day she learned everyone had feelings, and sometimes they need expressing.

She learned feelings needed expressing. However, it would take her years to learn how you do that the right way. She did not do emotions. They made her feel weak and uncomfortable.

She feared failure, failure in any capacity it came. Parenting. Friendship. Marriage. Work. Life. She failed often, or at least she always felt like she did.

She was difficult. In communicating. In compromising. In changing. In existing.


If it was important to her. You knew it. She was an advocate for everything she held value in. And she held value in a lot.

She believed in the good of others. She believed that progress was always possible. She believed that everyone deserved a chance, or several. Even, when those chances personally hurt her. She believed in people.


If she loved you, you knew she loved you. She gave everything in her. Everything. All of it. She didn’t know the word no. If you needed her, whatever it was for, it mattered more than her.