2036: The Life We Were Brave Enough to Believe In.... checked off the letter to myself on my 50 before 50.
I'm trying to check little things off of my 50 before 50. Today I am doing the Write a letter to your future self. I am happy that I am doing this exercise. I feel like this is going to help me stay focused and manifest the life ahead of me. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
* These pictures are AI, and what I hope my future looks like *
Dear Stacey,
You are about to turn 58. It’s 2036. And if the 2026 version of you could see this life — she would exhale the deepest, most grateful breath.
The boys have graduated. You made it. You made it through every late-night worry, every doctor appointment, every quiet fear about “will I be here for this?” You were there for high school graduations. You were there for Francis finishing college. Your eyesight held on through his graduation and even through his wedding day — just long enough to take in the shape of him standing tall and proud at the altar. Brock standing right by his side.
You never did see your grandbabies’ faces.
And that is okay.
Because you see them differently. You know them by the weight of their little bodies when they run into your arms. You know the rhythm of their giggles. You know the softness of their cheeks under your fingertips. You know the exact way they say “Nana.” Sight could never compete with that kind of knowing.
Francis is such a beautiful father. His wife is gentle and loving, and together they built a home that includes you — your own little mother-in-law cottage in the back. You are woven into their daily life. Hands-on. Present. Needed. Loved.
Brock is the best uncle ever. Truly. He lives close by in his apartment above his dog boarding and grooming business — a business he built with heart and grit. He has a sweet girlfriend who fits right in. He still looks out for everyone, especially his Papa when the BBQ is fired up. Some things never change.
And let’s talk about the miracle that once felt like a whisper of hope in 2026.
You are free from diabetes.
Back then, stem cell transplants were just being talked about — buzzing in medical circles, full of possibility but not yet a promise. And you held onto that hope quietly. After the kidney transplant made you stronger than you even knew you could be, you pushed forward again. You fought again. And a few years later, you did it — the stem cell transplant.
And it worked.
You are living without diabetes. No constant calculations. No relentless management. No weight hanging over every day. Just freedom. The kind you once barely let yourself imagine. The best part was seeing your nephew get cured first, and was able to celebrate his win with his mama.
You made it through the boys’ milestones before the transplants. Your body held on. Your eyesight hung on. And when it was finally time to let go of sight, you were ready. Not because it was easy — but because you had already proven to yourself that you could survive anything. Paully helping every step of the way, getting each other through high school was something you wouldn't have been able to do alone without each other, 15 years of friendship then, now almost 25! Watching her eight babies graduate and follow their life dreams was as important as watching the boys.
Mom and Dad are still doing so great. In their condo with the water view, with someone checking in daily, they’ve found a rhythm of support and independence. Dad still insists on BBQ duty, and putters around while listening to Rush. You still laugh about it. Around your 55th birthday, you spent that long summer in Europe with them — wandering through England, standing in the town where Dad’s great-grandfather was born. History felt personal. Time felt sacred. The food was amazing, Kat meet you guys in Italy and you ate your way through all of it.
And you kept writing.
You continued publishing on your blog. Your journalism grew. Your voice deepened. You built a beautiful, loyal following — especially among women who needed to see someone navigating change with honesty and courage. You embraced them. You celebrated them. And in doing so, you celebrated yourself.
You came to peace with independence. Not the fierce, white-knuckled version — but the soft, confident kind. The kind that says, “I can ask for help and still be strong.” You built a small, rich world: your boys, your grandchildren, your parents, your best friends. That circle became everything.
All those fears from 2026 — about your health, about blindness, about missing out, about being a burden — they are so small now. They dissolved in the face of love. In the face of resilience. In the face of joy you never saw coming.
You are not defined by what you lost.
You are defined by what you built.
At 58, you are lighter. Freer. Stronger. Surrounded by laughter. Wrapped in purpose. Living proof that the hardest chapters can become the most beautiful.
And if 2026 Stacey is still worrying?
Tell her this:
We made it.
And it was better than we ever imagined.
With love and so much pride,
Stacey (2026)
