I’m so afraid of people dying.
Every one is, I guess.
Every parent’s worst nightmare is losing their kids.
But now I entertain the thought, where for so long I haven’t. And it cripples me.
It’s not just the thought of losing my kids. It’s the cold, pristine terror that comes with the thought of losing my Amazing Man. It’s so difficult to trust what we have between us, and not because of him.
Because I don’t trust the Universe. I want to believe that he could never possibly die. I want to believe that there’s some guarantee that I will never suddenly be without the people I love.
I can’t believe that. Simply because I know it’s not the truth. The random element of everything, the fact that really bad things happen to really good people all the time… that scares the sh*t out of me.
I keep writing and rewriting this post. Re-reading my words and deleting whole chunks of them because they are not quite right. I attempt to justify this to myself- why I’m so afraid of death now. Why it’s become so unpleasant and debilitating the last few months, when it’s always been there.
It takes me quite a few rewrites to get it, to find what I’m looking for by writing all of this out.
I’m afraid of losing people- isn’t every one?
But I’m more afraid of not being able to handle losing someone. Of cracking at the pressure points and becoming little more than a gloop of a person, with all the things that hold me in shape- all the things that make me who I am- falling away and skewing.
Which is ridiculous, really. Because if I know nothing else, I should know that I’m more than the sum of what holds me together. And if I have to rebuild, I will. I can.
Besides… what’s the point of having awesome people around if you can’t love them completely?
What’s the point of loving people at all, if you allow fear to colour everything you feel for them?