Most of us tend to shy away from the topic of death. It’s a subject that often evokes discomfort or fear. Personally, I’ve never been particularly afraid of dying. I understand that death is an unavoidable part of life, a universal truth that we all share. Growing up, I developed a healthy perspective on mortality. I was raised to believe that once our physical bodies cease to exist, our souls transition to a different realm, moving closer to a divine understanding. Whether you call it heaven or another plane of existence, the essence remains the same: death is not the end.
My beliefs emphasize viewing death as “a messenger of joy,” encouraging us to approach it like any other journey—with hope and anticipation. Consequently, I have always viewed the passing of loved ones as a tragedy for those left behind, but a profound new beginning for the departed. This mindset allowed me to accept death without fear—until I became a mother.
Since my first child’s birth, the concept of dying and leaving my children without a mother has become a source of profound anxiety. As my kids have grown—now ages 7, 12, and 16—this fear has intensified. I can’t bear to imagine the emotional turmoil my death would bring to them. They would undoubtedly be heartbroken, and while they would eventually learn to cope, their lives would be irrevocably altered. The thought of their grief, especially during significant life events, is unbearable. There’s no substitute for a mother’s love.
I often think about how my partner, Jake, would navigate his grief while also supporting our children through theirs. The mere idea sends chills down my spine. I genuinely hope he finds happiness again someday, but my heart aches at the thought of a new woman stepping into my role. I hate contemplating such scenarios.
Furthermore, I relish the joy of watching my children grow. I didn’t bring them into this world to leave them prematurely. I yearn to witness their milestones—graduations, weddings, and eventually, their own children. I want to guide them through life’s complexities, from relationships to practical matters like mortgages and taxes. They deserve a mother by their side, and I want that mother to be me.
When I read about mothers who pass away while their children are still young, my heart shatters for both them and their families. I struggle to comprehend how a mother could take such a drastic step, especially when it comes to suicide. Mental illness is complex, yet the thought of a mother leaving her children behind is something my mind can’t fathom.
This fear of dying shadows me wherever I go. While I refuse to let it dictate my life, it undeniably affects my choices. For instance, I find skydiving intriguing, but there’s no way I would try it until my children are self-sufficient adults. Every time I board an airplane, I grapple with the “What if I don’t come back?” scenario. I constantly evaluate risks, which often conflicts with my adventurous spirit.
In moments of fear, I turn to prayer. It’s one of the few actions I can take when faced with something so beyond my control. I pray and trust that whatever happens will unfold as it should.
I wonder if I will ever return to a place where death doesn’t frighten me. Perhaps once my children are grown, that fear will lessen. But for now, as I navigate the challenges of motherhood, the thought of leaving them behind is too daunting to ignore.
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In summary, while facing the reality of death can be daunting, especially as a parent, understanding and embracing the journey of life can reshape our fears into appreciation for the time we have.
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