Tuesday, February 22, 2011

the reality of death

Call me morbid, but I have this inescapable fear that Jon is going to die young. I think this fear stems from the fact that until recently I had a pretty sheltered life from death: my last relative to pass away was a much older cousin that passed when I was about 6 or 7.

However, I recently read the blog of Brad, a man in our church whose wife was in a coma for about ten days until she passed away. They are young--early thirties at most, with two young children. And in the blink of an eye, he lost is wife. His partner, best friend, and soul mate (the depth of their love is apparent in his posts). That made death so real to me: it had never occurred to me that someone so young and healthy could leave so soon. And with that realization came a depth of concern: what if something similar should happen to Jon? What if I lose him before we even hit our 1 year wedding anniversary mark? Before children? Before retirement? The mere thought makes me misty.

The only good thing that has come from this inescapable anxiety is the fact that I truly appreciate every second I spend with Jon. My favorite part of the day is when I get to crawl into bed with him and talk about our day which is often filled with laughter and joy at finally being reunited. All of the sensations of our time together: the way my head fits so perfectly on his shoulder, the way my arms fit around his torso, the way he looks and smells... I savor every second. I take it all in. Because who knows what tomorrow could bring.

I so desperately hope that all of my fears are misplaced. I hope that Jon and I have over half a century of marriage under our belts before one of us is called Home. But in the event that doesn't happen, I am so grateful and blessed for the time we did get to spend together. I could look back on my life and know that however incomplete it will be without my best friend I at least got 9 months or 9 years or however long with him. I wish death didn't have to leave those left behind feeling so empty.

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