I'm gonna die aren't I.
So my mother died of breast cancer at 43 when I was 11. We've established that this event has had a large impact on many facets of my life, most of which I was prepared for, or at least able to read about. This newest piece-SOOOO not ready.
We had the "if I die" conversation a few weeks ago, and it sucked. Having to CLEARLY state who I want to raise my children, telling the Dorf that I WANT him to remarry if I die, explaining I want my ashes thrown into the wind of the jet stream (so I can be everywhere), it was the HARDEST conversation I've ever had.
But I've begun to notice that I tell him things prefaced with "When I'm gone..." NOT if, not just in case, but WHEN. I'm convinced I'm going to die on them. And I'm so matter of fact about it, like I'm waiting for a bus.
I was aware that I'd likely be worried until the kids passed the age I was when she died, and I passed the age she was when she died. I knew that. I didn't think I'd become consumed by the idea that I won't see them grow up.
Half of me wants to believe I'm just overly nutty about it. The other half of me thinks that I'm seeing some part of my future, as I've had these feelings before about other things.
I'm so scared I'm gonna die on them. I hated losing my mother, despite the fact that I KNOW we would have had knock down, drag out, running away fights. I wasn't exactly the little lady my mother wanted. But I can't imagine my kids having to have their first periods without a mother, having Mother's Day without someone to hug, just not having a woman around who understands why 10 pairs of shoes is CRITICAL. Just having a woman around, I missed. I've only just started to begin to really embrace the girly parts of me, but they're hard to find, and I feel really uncomfortable being that girl.
I'm also scared because it's only due to having kids that I've opened my heart again to life, and you know what? It's like the smell thing since I quit smoking-there are more BAD smells than good in life. I cry all the time seeing the awful things in life. I was like this as a kid-FAR too much empathy, to the point of being paralyzed by it. I had LIKED the fact that my fences kept that at bay. I dropped those fences, and now I'm scared to death.
I'm so afraid I'm going to die on them. I see myself in them, and it's hurting me...
posted by thordora @ 9:13 AM
10 comments:
I'm so sorry to hear you are stuck with that thought, I think parenthood and obviously your own painful experience with your mother have led you to thought patterns that are tough to deal with.
A friend of mine who is a recent new mother confessed that she has the most awful and distressing thoughts about things that could happen her child.
Relax darling and enjoy your life and try to categorise your irrational thoughts as being just that, cos that IS all they are.
I have two questions for you.
1. DO YOU BELIEVE IN GOD?
2. DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?
go by my philosophy - live life to its fullest... one day at a time...! HUGS!
Found you through Blog Explosion. I do usually comment on a post so personal so I am sorry if I offend.
First, I am sorry for your huge loss. What a difficult blow for one so young. Your feelings of no control over your own mortality are so normal and I am guessing you have been carrying them around with you even before you were a mom. Losing someone at 11 seems to be one of the toughest ages. You still have the memories of everything about her and her death. If you had been younger you may have not remembered. All I can suggest is making sure you get a mammogram and check your breasts and right there you have increased your odds on surviving. I am sure you already know this.
I also know the pain of empathy. When watching The Green Mile one line hit me so hard I cried for days. When John Cofey talks about wanting to escape the pain he is living on earth because the pain he feels “is like shards of glass in his head”. I could understand his statement all too well. I think God picks certain people to be the true humanitarians on this earth and you are likely one of them. Never stop opening you heart because you will likely walk through life feeling like you are missing something. The world needs more people like you. If I don't miss my guess you probably see it in your children too. I know because I see it in my kids. Even though I don't want them to feel the pain of empathy I certainly don't want them to feel nothing when they look at the pain and suffering in the world.
Anyway, this is by far the most personal comment I have ever left on a blog of someone I did not know and again, sorry if I have offended. :)
Wow. I've had the same thoughts too.
I try to chalk it up to the fact that those of us who have parented ourselves are great at being in control of what happens next- you know?
Death is the one thing I can't manage... and all my experiences with death have happened at a young age... so maybe that's why I project and think that my son will be Motherless at a youg age- as well.
Geeze- I dunno.
But I just wanted you to know that you aren't alone in your craziness- and that I mark ages too... (everytime I go on a trip I tell a close friend what to do in the event of my death!) ...so, maybe knowing that there is another person out there with the same experience/worries will ease the pain abit... because it eases mine.
'ello, what's all this then?
2 blogs?
Blimely.
WTF?!?!? I wrote a HUGE response to this last night! ARGHARGHARGH! I can't even blame blogger since it MIGHT be the PC at home. ACK!
I can't write what I wanted to right now, so later, when I have some time....thanks for the support all...
and Herge, blimey nails it.
2 blogs because I want to keep the mommy issues away from the rest of my life, since there;s enough in both areas for a blog each
FUCK! I can't believe that comment disappeared!
My son was born on a Saturday night, the 25th of January, 1986. On that Monday, I was still in the hospital (recovering from surgery) and turned on the TV to discover that the Challenger space shuttle had exploded. I can't accurately say how long I cried about it. I can remember getting up in the middle of the night to feed my son, sitting in the rocking chair in his room and silently weeping as he nursed. Because I knew - as I had never known before - what it would mean to lose a child, to lose a parent. It lessened as time went by, but I have to say that my own battles with illness have sometimes made me very afraid I might leave him. He is grown now but I know he still needs me, so I do what I can to be here for him. While the fear never went away, it transformed positively into a wonderful appreciation of every stage of his life. As time went on, and I got to know him as a child, then an adolescent, and now as an almost-adult, I am awed by God's immeasurable grace that walks and talks as our children. Have faith that you will have the time you need with him. And enjoy every minute of it.
Talking about it is good. I can't imagine what it must be like and it is good to think what other people's lives are like. I think it is great the way you pragmatically talk about "when". If only the rest of us realised that our lives could be on a knife edge and have plans in the background in the case of something unknown.
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