My greatest fear

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I have a fear of dying.

I guess all people fear dying to some extent, but when I think about dying, my chest constricts and my breathing is strained; I feel nauseous and fight the reaction to cry. I don’t know why I have this fear. This could possibly extend from my fear of missing out, that if I die, I will miss out on my own life, completing my own goals, standing triumphant over my achievements, watching my children grow, spending my life laughing with my most loved.

Being privy to my bosses email, I just read a blog one of her friends had posted, a 28 year old man who has just been diagnosed terminally ill. As much as the blogs broke my heart I could not stop reading them. 28 years, that will be my age this year. This could happen to anyone, this could happen to me.

Perhaps I am simply sensitive and reading these blogs has emotionally connected me with this unknown person. Perhaps I am subconsciously relating this person to my Ingrid, who is also terminally ill. I have a letter I wrote for her, which sits on my bedside table, and has been for almost 4 months. Somehow I fear if I send this letter, she won’t wait to see me again, that this letter would be an acceptable closure for her. Even though I know it sounds ridiculous, I feel she can wait if she chooses.

I have no illness, except the one in my head some would say, so how can the mere thought of death send me into an internal anxiety attack?

There is more of my life to live, more love to give, to receive.

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