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USA250 Journal Project
Personal Chronicle: July 4, 2025 – July 5, 2026
A gift for reflection. A record of now. A story for what’s next.
✍️ “Who am I?”
I’m Joan Douglas.
Widow. Nurse (retired). Mother of three.
I can make a roast, fix a loose fence post, and balance a checkbook in my head.
I was born in a snowstorm. Learned early not to cry unless something was broken. I raised kids while working nights and never once missed a mortgage payment. That’s love, even if no one calls it that anymore.
I don’t write in cursive unless it’s for condolences.
Who am I?
I’m the voice my daughter hears in her head when she doubts herself.
I’m the one who said, “You’ll be fine,” even when she wasn’t.
I’m the woman who learned that softness doesn’t always keep you safe.
✍️ “How did I get here?”
I got here by waking up every morning and doing what needed to be done.
I married young. Your grandfather was decent and steady—he liked his eggs over hard and paid every bill on time. We raised three kids, two dogs, and a garden that never fully cooperated.
I worked nights at the hospital for 28 years. Wiped brows, cleaned wounds, sat with people who were dying, and then came home to pack lunches and sign field trip forms. There wasn’t time to be delicate.
We didn’t talk about therapy. We didn’t ask, “How do you feel?”
We asked, “Did you get it done?”
Meredith was always the dreamer. Drawing in the margins, asking too many questions. I didn’t understand it then. Maybe I still don’t. But I loved her. I just didn’t say it the way she needed to hear.
Now I live alone in a tidy house in Iowa with too many casseroles and too much quiet.
How did I get here?
By surviving. By staying useful.
By doing the hard thing when no one else would.
What has life taught me?
That love looks different through a rearview mirror.
That being strong doesn’t always mean being right.
And that maybe listening is something you learn late.
Family
Meredeth Alton – Daughter.
Jeff Alton – Son-in-law.
Clara Alton – Grandaughter.
Miles Alton – Grandson.
