A bit morbid.

I've realized that as I get older I don't worry about aging. I worry about everyone else getting older. This was never really a problem until Tristan was born. It was as if I was smacked in the face with everyone else's mortality. I cried the whole time that I was pregnant with Tristan because my dog would eventually die. Then Tristan was born and I started to freak out about my parents aging. I started doing mental math and obsessing over what their age would be when he would graduate, and be old enough to get married. Would it be mathmatically possible for them to be living for it? I would get really bent out of shape about it, and still do from time to time. I'm not totally convinced that it's normal, or that other people give it as much thought as I do. Me trying to figure out if I'm normal is a reoccuring theme if you haven't yet noticed. I've talked on the phone with my bff about it, and she says that I'm morbid and that she just doesn't think about it.

I can completely handle the idea of death. I want to know what it's like, and I want to hug my grandparents again. I miss them so much some days that dying would seem like the easy part. I get hung up on dying before my children are old enough to care for themselves because I question Richie's ability to fill those shoes on his own, but other than that I have no fear. Getting older is actually something that I look forward to. I have an old soul, and for once I might just fit in with my peers. Loving sleep, being a homebody, doing embroidery and playing Yahtzee will finally be socially acceptable. Then I stop dead in my tracks because I realize that there will be a lot of people that I will have to part with along the way. It really scares me. I don't even want to think about what it will be like to say goodbye to the generation that stands between me and my days filled with naps and competitive Uker.

Back in November my mind was allowed to wander into another morbid direction. A woman that I had never met, but knew of, lost her 31 year old husband. She has two children the same age as mine, and was six months pregnant at the time. I've followed her blog since the day that she lost her husband, and it's been quite a wake up call. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your life can come crashing down at any moment. I've spent so many nights since I first heard her story with my head on Richie's chest just listening to his heart beat. What if one day he isn't there anymore? What if he goes first? How on earth do you keep breathing?

I have completely come to grips with the fact that one day I will die...but I really don't think that anyone else should consider it.