I Don't Want to Die

I sure hope this does not turn out to be one of those ironic pieces on the news where a mom drops dead and her words come back to bite her. You know the ones I am talking about. ‘Body found, she seemed to predict it‘. The truth is, I don’t want to die. Like.. ever. But since that is not plausible then we will go with, I don’t want to die until my kids are adults.

anxious

I have never had a fear of actually dying and I still don’t. However I go – natural causes or tripping on a stick, smacking my head on the ground and hemorrhaging internally for weeks – I don’t really care. When my time is up, it is up. And I have some questions for God so really, it would satisfy my curiosity to die.

But lately, like, in the last few months, I have had this crushing fear that I will leave my kids alone if I die now. Or any time in the next 12 years. And the thought of them growing up wondering what would have been if their mother were around make me excruciatingly, painfully sad.

I don’t know if now that the divorce is done and the routine of life is pretty much set, I just have more time on my brain, but it has really kicked up a notch lately. To the point where I sit up in bed, sure I see a knife wielding stranger in my room, and sweat bullets for hours after, sure it was not just a dream.

I want to raise my kids. I want to see them grow up. I want to see if the way I think they will turn out really happens. But it is more than that. I know the feeling of losing a mom and a family and a routine and a lifestyle. I know the incredible sense of loss that accompanies the unexpected and haunts you your entire life. My birth mother died, after my adoption at age 8, mind you, but her death has always been a point of pain for me. More so than being taken from her. And more deeply than knowing on the day of my adoption that she would never really be coined my ‘mother’ again.

The thought of my kids, whom I have tried with all of my might to give security, routine and trust to, feeling this same pain is crushingly unbearable at times. To the point that I almost want it to happen so that I don’t have to worry about it anymore. How messed up is that?

If I do die, I know my kids will be OK. They have my parents who would take them and raise them as I wish and other family that would make sure they have what they need. Plus, I am looking into life insurance where they are the sole beneficiary so they will be OK in their lives.

But I don’t want to die. Leaving them with that hole, that loss, that fear that might haunt them when they have their own kids. I don’t want them inherit this insanity.

I am well aware that there is not much I can do about staving off my death. Except threaten that I have a 12 gauge shotgun and an itchy finger, drive safely – sans texting (see Mom, I listen) – take care of myself… that needs to start soon… and pray. Really, really hard.

All I can really do is live now. This moment. This memory and hope that it is enough. That, should the horrible happen, my girls will have enough precious and cherished memories to overwhelm the painful loss.

That they will one day look back and say… Mom was here. Mom was awesome. She had the best smile. And I am happy I got mine from her.