On Loss

I've had way too many conversations about death these past few weeks, and news yesterday that a family friend passed away at the age of 46 just has made my emotions tail spin.  I don't mind admitting that I am terrified of dying, I always think I can save myself in the nick of time.  I simply have too much to do to leave this place. And yes, writing this I am creeping myself out, like it will be some ironic morbid obit or something because my hypochondriac self is feeling pain in my left arm (it's the pinched nerves in my neck, not my heart), and because things like this always happen. 

But the reality that is haunting me  is that most lives are lives not really lived.   I always feel like I am not really living mine.  I am afraid that I will not accomplish all my goals, and being focused on that a lot of the time stops me in my tracks.  Hence my fear.

The conversations I've had about death have been intense, mostly they revolve around walking my Mom and the caregivers through the various scenarios of what will happen when my Dad's dialysis catheter finally quits, and he runs out of options.  I don't want a decision made in the emotion of that moment, and so I am doing my best as the one in charge (The One in Charge is God) to avoid it.