“Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?”
Had you asked me thirty years ago, 17 year-old me would have blown you off and made something up while secretly believing herself immortal. There were too many things to do and other things to think about then.
Had you asked me twenty years ago, I would have thought my demise would be be related to residual pain stemming from the back / neck problems I received in a couple of closely spaced car accidents. Or, from the bowel obstruction (I have an artery wrapped around my small intestine) I live with. Or, from stomach cancer – like my mom did. Or from a heart broken and destroyed by my (now ex-) husband.
Had you asked me ten years ago, I would have thought it would be from exhaustion. From being used up, completely empty and spent.
Had you asked me five years ago, I would been absolutely convinced I would just waste away, alone, lonely, the nothing of nothingness.
I don’t know that it matters that much.
Like 17 year old me, I choose not to think about it that much. It isn’t that I secretly think myself to be immortal. It’s just that, like 17 year old me, right now I have too much to live for to worry about it. There are too many things to do and too many other things to think about.
Instead, I think about how I will live every day until that happens.
Spending time where it matters.
Being with people I care about most and with people who care about me most.
Learning new things.
Trying new things.
Going new places.
Enjoying old, comfortable places.
Doing things that simply bring me joy.
And… when it does happen?
I hope it will be simply a slipping away, surrounded by the kiddos I so adore, wrapped in arms of my love.