Warning: Super-Mondo-Depressing Post. Come back tomorrow if you don't want to think about death!
Well, I'll have to write the more cheerful post I'd planned for today tomorrow, because today I got some sad news about an acquaintance, who went in to the hospital one day to have a C-section, a new baby, and ended up nearly losing her own life. The buddy who emailed me about this wrote, "I will never complain about anything again, ever."
It's gotten me thinking about mortality, which (for me, anyway) is always pretty close to the surface - and even more so now just a few days before my boys and I fly halfway across the country to visit my folks.
I hate flying. I hate being in such close proximity to others, I hate the tension in the airport, I hate feeling that I must grow my fingernails really long so as to have a weapon, just in case. I hate the sounds coming from the engines, I hate thinking of myself so high above the earth in a little tin can. Hate. It.
The worst thing of all is taking my boys on the plane. They're great, don't get me wrong - they enjoy the flight, they're happy to be there. My problem is more that I'm the one who makes the decision to get them on the plane in the first place; as minors, they have no say. So, if the big "if" happens, I'm the one to blame for their demise.
Such are my thoughts leading up to a plane trip, but they don't occupy me all the time. Mostly, I think happily about seeing my parents, and skiing, and enjoying the Rocky Mountains. But just tonight, I guess because of the sad news I mentioned earlier, I am thinking about the big "if."
So if it happens, here's what I'll be thinking: Love. I'll be hugging my boys, and repeating (possibly out loud), I love you, my Ben. I love you, my boys. I love you, Mom and Dad. I love you, brothers, brother-in-law and sisters-in-law. I love you, nephews. I love you, Mom-in-law. I love you, my dear friends. Love. Love. Love.