This...thing.

My son and I we're on the 405 freeway when we heard an advertisement for a new reality television show called The Best Funeral Ever. We looked at each other at the same time as I shook my head and began my sentence, "Look..." He cut me off and said, "I already know." I was brought up in a baptist church. My grandmother was the secretary of the church. This means that I have attended more, or at least as many funerals as a mortician's daughter. I have seen them all. This also means that I have been planning my own funeral since I was five. At least.

As a child I made mental notes to write down in my special notebook names of those who were uninvited to my special day. For whatever reasons. Miss Williams, my third grade teacher was on the list because she took Monique H. and Sharice R. to the movies and not me. Then two years later she was reinvited because she was the coach of the dance club and I always got to be the head of the line, so...yeah. Big Pam pushed me down in the sixth grade and after much deliberation, I decided that if I should die before I wake, then she could come to my funeral. Mostly so she could feel really really sad for being mean to me. My mental list waxed and waned over the years and finally I have settled on being cremated and a party in my honor instead of all the hoopla. Instead of the possibility of ending up on a reality show. Needless to say, death is a thing.

At forty-three years old now, death is a different thing. These days I am more planning my lunch, my blog, oil changes and tune ups for my car than my death. Although there are days, my dear. There are days. I am stalling. You know that Abilify (anti depressant) commercial where the cartoon lady is walking down the street, going to the mailbox, the mall, wherever, and the blue umbrella blob thing (depression) is not really on her, but is close and keeps following her? The thought of death for me is like that, kinda. An older woman I know told me that that is a forties thing. In our forties our parents, aunts and uncles are older and hospital visits are often more serious. As women, many of us are going through peri menopause, our hormones are wicked wirey, many of us have children who are teenagers, life stuff sometimes becomes the blue blob thing.

About a week before this past Christmas, my mother had to go into the hospital. She called me from home and wasn't well, could barely breathe, was weak... My son and I rushed over and took her in to the emergency room. We were there all the night. Early in the morning the doctor came in and told me that they had to run more tests and that they would have to keep her. I'm sure he said more, but all I heard was "keep her." Keep her. Keep? The blue blob thing crawled closer. Thankfully though, closer to me than the blob (fear) was my faith in Love, Life, Healing energy that connects us all to the One (God). My prayers were closer than the blob. There were moments though. There were moments. I am still stalling.

The blob is now closer to me than is comfortable. I keep turning other corners and looking other ways so as not to see it. I will not be specific. Not here. In my prayers I am very clear. Though God knows all about the person I am praying for I keep calling his name over and over. In my prayers, my thoughts, conversations with myself on long drives. I am praying for his healing. Praying for his peace. His comfort, his ease. My ease. Death is a thing. So is life. Life is a thing. Comfort and love are things too. I am still stalling. Stalling means not ending. Not yet. Just not yet, ok?