September 17, 2026

When I die, don’t tell people I lost my battle.
I didn’t lose a damn thing.
I lived.
I got knocked down more times than I can count, and sometimes I stayed down longer than I should
have. Sometimes I was scared. Sometimes I was so damn tired I didn’t know how I was going to get
through another day.
But I did.
And before I leave this place, I hope God gives me a little time.
Because I’ve got some places I need to go.
I’m going back to Texas.
I’m going to ride those old roads again, windows down, music playing too loud, remembering the girl
I used to be before life taught her how hard it could hit.

I’m going to pick up a chainsaw and hear the wheels and the power turning,

faster than my mind ever could.
I’m going to Oklahoma.
I’m going to stand beside the river and listen.
No bills.
No damn phone ringing.
Nobody needing anything.
Nothing hurting.
Just me and the water.
I’m going back to every house that ever felt like home, even the ones that don’t exist anymore.
I’ll walk through the rooms.
I’ll see people sitting where they used to sit.
I’ll hear voices I haven’t heard in years.
And for just a minute, everybody will still be alive.
I’ll visit my children.

I’ll look at their grown faces and somehow still see the babies I held.

The ones that raised me, instead of me raising them.
I’ll remember worrying about them, fighting for them, getting mad as hell at them, forgiving them,
and loving them through things I didn’t know how to fix.
I’ll visit my grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

Remember their laughter.

I will visit my blood family., even though I have not shared their lives.

They remain strong in my soul.
I’ll look at them and think, Well, would you look at that.
I was here.
Part of me kept going.
I’ll find the people I loved who left before I did.
And I’ve got questions.
A whole damn bunch of them.
Why did this happen?
Why did that happen?
Why did some people leave?
Why did some people hurt me?

Why did I hurt people I loved the most?
Why did I spend so many years worrying about things that eventually didn’t matter at all?
And why in the hell did some of the hardest things in my life have to be so hard?
Maybe I’ll finally get answers.
Or maybe once I’m standing on the other side, I won’t need them anymore.
Before I go, I’m going to remember the little things.

Singing to my children.

The smell of newborn baby goat fur.

The sound of the coyotes symphony.
Old denim.
Worn leather.
Pearl snaps.
Horses.
Back roads.
Things somebody else thought were junk that I could look at and see another life in.

Music turned up loud enough that for three minutes nothing else existed.
Cold beer after a day that kicked my ass.
Laughing until I couldn’t breathe.
People I loved.
People I shouldn’t have loved.
People I loved anyway.
I’ll remember being broke.
I’ll remember scraping money together and wondering how the hell I was going to pay another bill.
I’ll remember working when my body was screaming at me to stop.
I’ll remember making something beautiful out of almost nothing because sometimes almost nothing
was exactly what I had.

Been on top, been on bottom.

Everything in between.
I’ll remember every time somebody underestimated me.
And I’ll probably laugh.
Because I’m still here.
Until I’m not.
And when that day finally comes, I don’t want anybody standing around talking only about the hard
parts of my life.
Talk about the funny shit too.
Talk about the things I screwed up.
Talk about my mouth.
Talk about how stubborn I was.
Tell the stories you’re probably not supposed to tell at a funeral.
Laugh.
For God’s sake, laugh.
Because there was laughter here.

There was love here.
There was one hell of a lot of struggle here.
But there was a life here.

My life.

It wasn’t neat.
It wasn’t easy.
It sure as hell wasn’t perfect.
But it belonged to me.
And when I’ve made my last trip around all those places and people, I think I’ll finally be ready.
I’ll leave the bills behind.
The pain.
The grudges.
The things I never got finished.
The questions nobody could answer.
The people who never understood me.
They can all stay here.
I’m not carrying that shit where I’m going.
I’m taking the good stuff.
My children.
My grandchildren.
Every person I truly loved.
Every dog, horse, and creature that ever trusted me.
Every sunrise I actually stopped long enough to notice.
Every song that ever hit me right in the chest.

Every memory that still makes me smile.
And every little piece of love I managed to leave behind.
Then I hope God looks at me, probably shakes His head a little, and says,

“Bobbie Sue, you’ve raised enough hell down there. Come home.”

And I’ll probably say,

“About damn time.”

Then I’ll go.
But don’t think for one second that’ll be the last of me.
When an old song comes on out of nowhere…
when you smell leather…
when you find something beautiful everybody else would’ve thrown away…
when you’re standing beside a river and suddenly feel like somebody is standing there with you…
or when something happens that’s so ridiculous you can almost hear me saying,

“Ain’t that some shit.”

Well…
maybe I’m just stopping by.