I was talking to a friend today (Thanks Debbie!) who was mentioning that she’ll be turning 60 soon. That fact is not really sitting well with her. Then, I started thinking that I’ll be turning 40 in a few years; and, because I am my mother’s daughter, I freaked out a little. Not for the same reason she would have; while hers is a legitimate fear of death, mine is more of an OMG kind of thing. I just can’t believe where the time has gone.
You see, my entire existence has been shrouded in the fear that my mother has of death. I have to admit, her reasoning for the fear is not a bad one at all. Her father, my grandfather, passed away right in front of her when she was only 15; he was only 56. My grandmother (mom’s mom), didn’t believe in psychiatrists or anything of the sort, so my mother has since suffered from a bit of PTSD. Then, to make matters worse, her brothers were only 49 and 57 when they passed.
I think, perhaps, it’s why I’m not afraid of death. I see it more of a necessity than a burden; what other choice do we have really? If you think about it, the only other choice we have outside of aging, is dying. To me, each day is a gift that is not afforded to everyone.
I am, though, nervous about aging; both mentally and physically. I’ve watched my Grandmother’s mental capacity diminish for the passed decade or so and that scares the crap out of me. I worry that I, too, will wind up there someday and not have the support that she’s had. In terms of physical health, I can only hope that I don’t end up following in the footsteps of my Father and require the same, endless parade of surgeries that have never seemed to really help him.