Last night I got a message from a friend. Over the weekend his best buddy committed suicide. I'd never met this person, knew almost nothing about him, but his death is haunting me. Add to that my fear, as surgery could very well be 5 days away, that something could go wrong and I'd never see my kids again? Oh, and every time I play wurdle (my favorite iPhone app) I find "die," "dies," "dead," even "death" appear in the letter jumble.
Death is in the air.
Or, more accurately, my fear of death. Which could be construed as a fear of the unknown, which could then be boiled down to how hard it is for me to let go.
I've spent months doing everything in my power to make someone's life better. My brother has spent his life dealing with adversity while never giving up hope.
And I'm heading to the lab, for last blood tests, an EKG, and x-rays. If all works out, next Monday, right now, I'll be in surgery.
I'm scared. I want this to work more than I've wanted almost anything in my life. I want my brother to feel better. I want to heal and live a healthy life for many more years. I feel, in some ways, like I'm just starting - there's so much more for me to do on this planet.
I choose life. Whole-heartedly. Enthusiastically (most of the time). I choose the mess and the pain and the anxiety. And the joy and the bliss and having Jack tell me I'm beautiful then pinching me and adding: except for the fat on your shoulders and thighs. I choose Iz rolling her eyes at me, the puppy peeing on the floor, the sweltering summers in NYC.
Only I don't get to choose. I can want. I can pray with all my heart which is quite the challenge ad I suck at praying. And I can hope that all will be fine in the end.
Yes, death is a part of life. But I'm praying not to get there for another 50 years.