I’ve read about death, I’ve written about death, I’ve watched various shows about death…you would think I had a fascination with death. I don’t have a fascination. I have a high interest in understanding death because I fear it. I don’t fear the ceasing to exist aspect of it. I fear the moment right before it actually happens. I fear the not being able to accomplish all the goals I had set for myself aspect of it. Which leads into my number one fear…failing or not succeeding with the life or the body that I was given.
I’ve had at least 4 brushes with death that I can vividly recall (and I’m pretty sure I’ve had several other Final Destination style occurrences as well). One happened just recently that you would think would have woken me up to “how precious life is,” as everyone around me kept reminding me, but it hadn’t hit yet as to how dangerously close and all of a sudden I came to shedding this body and leaving this earth.
I did have a moment in a bathroom a few days later. There were several tears and thoughts of WTF just happened. However, the breakdown was fleeting due to the fact that I had a life (2 kids and my pride) to get back to and finish things that I had started. If anything, for the time being, that situation had renewed my creativity and given me a special kind of focus.