I found four red spots on my left arm the other day. I read somewhere that red spots are symptoms of leukemia.
Let's just say that my mind wandered far, far away for the next fifteen minutes. I couldn't believe the intensity of my fear. It was so unexpected, especially because I didn't really believe that I had leukemia (or did I?).
At one point, I was worried that I would not be able to nurse Yohanan during chemotherapy. And whether the boys would understand why mommy can't answer them when she lays in the coffin.
I've never been one who fear death. I knew it was an awful thing. And I felt terrible when I heard people losing their loved ones. But I have never feared my own death. It seemed so... inconsequential. If I die, I die. Besides, I was curious to see the world to come. Or perhaps, I just thought that death would not happen to me, not yet.
Of all things unexpected about motherhood, the fear of my own death is most surprising. In a strange way, I think it can be a good thing -- a reminder for me to truly live, and live truly.
Life is weightier now. I am a mom.
I have a distinct purpose for waking up every morning: I have people to feed. And when I collapse in bed (or on the floor, or in my chair) at night, I can feel good about one thing: People are clean. These might not be grand purposes, but they get me out of bed every day.
After a few more clicks around the internet, I don't think I have leukemia. Phew.
Cheers to more meals to cook and more baths to give!
(Even though sometimes people would rather eat flowers)