I’d like to say I am not afraid of getting older, just afraid of dying. But they hold hands in reality, don’t they? I turned twenty-eight this year…not old by any means! But I can’t seem to stop thinking about death…. Maybe it’s because when I was sixteen, my sister’s husband died at thirty-two from cancer. Or maybe it’s because my best friend died at twenty-three. Or maybe it’s because of the reality that both of my parents are turning seventy next year. Or maybe it’s because I had a slew of health problems this year. Whatever the reason, or the reasons combined, I am terrified of dying and getting older.
I have a three year old son, and some days I just can’t get away from the thought of dying young and leaving him behind. This thought only gets stronger the older I get. I think it’s a natural feeling to have. No parent wants to leave their child behind in a world without guidance and security. I guess I just don’t want to go too soon.
However, life is freaking short. These last eight years of my life have flown by. Wasn’t I just twenty-one in my first apartment, drinking, working, testing boundaries, getting my footing in life? It wasn’t so long ago, yet it seems like a lifetime. I know I’m going to blink and I will be forty. I’ll blink and my babies will be grown and I’ll be old and wrinkly and that much closer to death. Again, getting old is nothing to frown about. I’d rather be old when I die than young.
I guess I just wish I wasn’t so afraid of it. I wish I could take chances and LIVE rather than second guess and be overly conscious. I want to live every day without wondering if this is my last day with my loved ones. I wish I didn’t have this weird obsession about dying and when it’s going to happen to me…
All my love,