Terminal Fear

I was watching an episode of Bones much earlier today. It had a young teenage girl with terminal cancer. She was an artist, a good one.

Growing up, my biggest fear has always been dying alone. To lessen the triteness of the phrase, I can more accurately say that the fear has been that no one will care that I am gone. Of course I am grown now and know what family means, and more particularly, what my family is like. I would be stupid to try to convince myself, and stupider to be convinced by myself, that no one would care if I died. I have a mother. Enough said.

Survival must be etched in my DNA somewhere by the firm and unrelenting hand of Evolution. I have watched enough TV to know that there are exactly two kinds of people: those that cry and say they don't want to die, and those that are graceful in their acceptance of what is about to happen and in their imparting of strength to those around them.

I always figured myself to be a variation on the second kind -- grace aside. It would be less about acceptance and more about welcoming. But what if I'm wrong?

I think I realized today that my biggest fear isn't facing Death alone -- it's reluctance toward It.