Never grow up

I've been thinking about death a lot recently.

Maybe it's because I see all these children now, and I write prescriptions with birthyears in the 2000s, and I'm realizing - overwhelmingly - that I am no longer part of the youngest generation, and that I am mortal. That I will die.

Death.

It's something that we learn about when we're still in elementary school learning to care for pet rocks. We learn the definition of what it is to be alive. What the difference is between being alive and being dead. How death is permanent. How all living things die. And, ergo, I will die.

Except, that last statement never sinks in. We stave off our anxieties by reminding ourselves that we're still young, that we're healthy, that those fatal car accidents and downed airplane flights could never happen to us. We're the lucky ones.

I know it's ironic. How is it that just a few years ago - or at least it feels like just a few years ago - I would think dark twisty thoughts about how it would be better to fade into nothingness, to fade out of existence, to just fade out of life. And now, here I am, at 10:24PM on a Friday night, having a panic attack because I'm worried about the day that I do cease to exist.

I just rolled over and poked my sleeping husband into semi-consciousness for a few seconds.

ME

Hey, can you promise me something?

HUSBAND

Hmmmm.

ME

We probably have some kind of soul or something right? There has to be some meaning to our existence right?

HUSBAND

Hmmmmmm.

ME

So, when we die, do you think our souls will be able to find each other?

HUSBAND
Hmmmmmm...mmhmm...

ME
Promise?

HUSBAND

Promise.

He probably won't remember our conversation in the morning. He probably won't even remember that he reached out and clasped my hand while falling blissfully back asleep with a loud snore. But I will remember how readily he promised. Because death, more than anything, feels like being completely and utterly alone. And somehow with his promise, I feel hope. I feel lighter. And that somehow helps illuminate the path I need to get me through my tunnel of panic.