Leaving My Mark

For as long as I can remember, I have always had this fear of not being remembered. I do not know how or why it was so important to me, but I never wanted to be forgotten. Who does?

Yesterday, my mom and I took Miranda to the local high school to see their spring musical, Fiddler on the Roof. While that high school will not be the one that my daughter attends, it was the one that I went to many many years ago. 

Miranda was excited to see where her mommy and uncles used to go to school. It's much bigger than her school (after all, it has a pool and a planetarium), but she was not too overwhelmed. She liked walking the hallowed halls and looking at the lockers and was very worried about where the students ate their snacks. Then we walked her into the back of the auditorium where my name was displayed on a plaque stating that I was the "Best Actress" for my senior year. There it was. In wood and bronze. Proof that I was to be remembered.

I have a lot of happy high school memories. Many of them were on that stage. I can close my eyes and still smell the costumes, the paint from the sets, the blisters on my feet and the nervousness in my stomach. I can feel the stage lights on my face and the feeling that washed over me when the audience responded to my different characters.

Some nights, before the curtain would open, I would reach up as high as I could and put my fingerprint on something that I thought might not get wiped down right away and therefore serve as proof that I was there. That became something I did whenever I would go somewhere new. I used to try to leave my invisible mark as a sign that I was there. In my old dorm rooms. In the house I lived in during my college years. In my first apartment. Before selling my first car. I never used ink or anything permanent. I just had hopes that if someone wanted to know I was there, they could somehow see my fingerprint and know.

I did not do it in the hospital after I delivered Allie. I am not sure I ever did it after she was born. I have often said that her death changed me. Not all of the change was good. Her death took away my innocence and naivete, and it was not until I was in my old high school yesterday that my old tradition came back to me.

The thing is, I have finally come to terms with the fact that I will be remembered. I have been fortunate enough to impact and be impacted by so many people. Most recently, I have chosen to go back to work in a field that directly lets me help others, thereby solidifying that I will not be forgotten.

So if you see me reaching up high and pressing my index finger upon a surface, simply smile and let me be me. 

Here's to leaving our mark!