It feels like my heart is swollen a little bit as I look at my face, more youthful and optimistic, generally grinnin' like a fool in every picture. I read letters that were sent to me.
"Dear Jeanette, I can't believe you are 22! I am only 23 you know!" from my sister.
I read letters from my parents telling me about the Bountiful Temple dedication. I read letters from my youngest brother (now 27,) telling me about his AP English class and the poems he has been writing.
I read in my journal adventures with various companions. I read how strongly I loved some of them and find myself tearing up at friendships that have...slipped away.
I read struggles I had, I read about people who started reading the Book of Mormon and chose to act up on it...or not. I wonder what has become of many, many people.
I find my name tag and stare at it. "Hermana Atwood La Iglesia de Jesucriso de los Santos de los Ultimos Dias"
I look at the remnants of that life...and I can not believe that was me.
I am finding other things. I am finding stuff from my Sheridan days I had forgotten about. I am finding emails that for whatever reason I decided to print and save. I am finding old journals I had forgotten I had even kept. I am finding letters I started that were never sent. I read them and debate sending them to the appropriate people.
I look at sketchbooks, school assignments, life drawings, doodles, (everywhere on everyTHING in all my past lives are doodles.)
I have found a packet of letters I had thought were lost forever. I read them too stunned to cry.
I look at the remnants of that life too and wonder.