Death. Not that I am afraid of dying. That is not it. Death scares me for so many other reasons. It is unpredictable. Undiscerning. And sometimes, untimely. It is the one thing that we cannot control, and the one thing that is inevitable for us all.
I fear leaving my family before I am ready to go. Before they are ready. I want to be there for my son and daughter. To encourage them in their goals, to love them through their faults, to see them grow and smile each day. To be their source of comfort, and strength, and when I can, wisdom. I want my daughter to know who her mother is through me. Not from the stories and anecdotes I know my husband, son and parents would tell her. Not from her one day finding this blog and reading about who I was, what I cherished, what I feared, what made me smile.
I deeply fear losing my children. Perhaps this is a result of my previous miscarriages mixed with my anxiety, but it is real and occasionally haunts me. I am no longer able to live with the mindset that carries many people through their everyday lives- that it cannot happen to me. Those kinds of things happen to other people. But not me. That mindset, that ignorant bliss was shattered for me over 2 years ago. I cherish each moment with my children. The jokes and laughs with my son. The early morning snuggles and bright smiles from my baby girl. I live in fearful awareness at times. That fears lives with me, tucked into the shadows of my heart.
I do not fear dying. I do not fear what happens after death. My fears are for the broken hearts and grieving souls of those that are left behind- whether my own or those that I love...