thanatophobia (aka death anxiety)

I'm 51 years old.  Some days it feels strange to be this age.  As in, how did I get to be this old, this quickly?  How did the last few decades sail by without my really comprehending the amount of time that was passing?  How do we go from our youthful years believing we'll have plenty of time to do everything we hope to do to realizing more of our life is behind us than in front of us?  

These aren't unique feelings or questions on my part.  I imagine humans have been contemplating how long they'll live...or the reality of dying, really...since we've been conscious of its inevitability.  Losing my mother and sister within a seven month span and the aftermath of both their deaths has certainly brought my own mortality to mind.  Perhaps more often than I'd like to admit.

I've been thinking of a few scenes in the movie Moonstruck, specifically with Olympia Dukakis' character, Rose.  First is where she witnesses a man having a fight in a restaurant with a young woman he is dating and later asks him "why do men chase women?  I think it's because they fear death."  Second is the memorable moment when she tells her husband, Cosmo, "I just want you to know.  No matter what you do.  You are going to die, just like everybody else."  The relevance for me isn't really about older men dating younger women or men cheating on their wives so much as it's the behaviors or worries we mortals experience all because we're fearful of dying.  

After my mom passed, I just couldn't get past the sorrow I felt over thinking that all of the things she loved had lost their meaning and purpose.  The artwork on the walls, her clothes, her collections of knick knacks, dishes, recipes, jewelry, photos, letters, etc. all added up to a whole lot of nothing in the end.  It took little time to disperse it all, take it down, donate it, give it away which left me feeling like none of it meant anything.  Any care or love or connection she had for them or to them seemed to evaporate with her life ending.  In the end, our things mean very little to the people left behind other than being a tangible reminder of the person who once owned them.  For some reason, I couldn't shake this feeling which made me feel slightly hopeless and made me start to view my own possessions in the same light.  I'd look around my very well-stocked craft room or at the book collection spread throughout our house and think "none of this has any point.  All of this will be a burden on my husband when I'm dead."  Then one day I told my aunt how I was feeling, and she quickly put it in perspective.  She told me that it doesn't matter if anyone wants or cares for our stuff after we're gone.  The point is the joy it gives us while we're alive.  This helped snap me out of the mindset I'd been stuck in for many, many months.  It helped me see that this very particular way of viewing my mom's things was how I was manifesting the sadness I felt at her being gone.  And it was also about being worried that after my life is over, will anything I've done or collected or said or regretted or experienced matter?  To anyone?  I'm still reckoning with this to a degree.  I'm not imagining a legacy or anything grand.  I guess I just want to be remembered well and not worry that my hobbies and collections or my life and relationships were pointless. 

I know.  Heavy, right?  Well, that's not all. 

My biological father passed at 47, and I spent more time in my 40s than I'd like to acknowledge dreading what I viewed as a milestone birthday - the age he died.  Would I make it past that age?  Knowing none of my paternal family's medical history, I worried that his fate would become my fate - dying very young.  I got over it when my 47th birthday came and went.  But now 52 is a little over a month away.  My sister died one day before her 52nd birthday.  And I can't help worrying again.  I know it's illogical and unlikely, but the unease is still there.  It's not constant, but it lingers somewhere in my brain, nagging at me now and then.  Sometimes it presents itself as regret which never seems to be a helpful or useful emotion.  Other times it shows up as that old reliable - anxiety.  Another unobliging emotional state.

So, what to do with all this apprehension?  I've been spending more time intentionally getting outside to wander solo with no goal other than to move and enjoy fall in Alaska.  To listen and look for birds.  To relish the scent of fireplace smoke, decaying leaves and wet earth.  To look for mushrooms.  To make eye contact, smile and say hello to passersby.  To watch the progress of trees changing, especially the few maple and larch trees in our neighborhood.  

I've also been actively and purposefully recognizing the bounty of wonderful in my life.  Friends, family, our crazy and loving calico, the security and safety of having a comfortable home, dogs I meet, bird sightings, moose sightings, beluga sightings, mountain views, our pansies and roses still in bloom, receiving snail mail, etc., etc.  As many wise people have known before me, when you endeavor to make gratitude a habit, you soon become aware of every good thing in your life without really trying.  Soon enough you're thankful for things you may have thought little about in the past.  And you seem to instantly recognize things that make your life easier, better, happier and meaningful.  How could anything but good come from that?!  

I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house. - Nathaniel Hawthorne

A similar sentiment I said to myself two days ago as we put off yard work and laundry to explore one of our favorite walking spots and later a favorite birding spot.  The sun was shining!  With the wet, cool summer and start to autumn we've had, you just can't take sunny afternoons for granted.  

On this trip, we did not see the Sandhill Crane trio of mom, dad and this year's colt we'd been watching throughout summer, but I'd already said goodbye and wished them safe travels a week before.  (Yes, I talk to wildlife.  I recently said "hi momma" to a cow moose munching on a tree in someone's front yard as her calf foraged nearby.)  

We did see scaups and yellowlegs and grebes and gulls and, of course, Mallards and magpies.  I am always happy for sightings of our avian friends, but in both places I was also focused on flora - underbrush, trees, leaves, mushrooms, moss, lichen, cattails. 

What made an afternoon like this even lovelier is that folks out and about also seemed happy and delighted with a clear, nearly cloudless day.  Most everyone said hello or smiled in greeting.  It was a delightful way to spend the day.

Autumn arrives early in Alaska

 

Mindful

Sandhill Crane

Spring is well underway - finally! - which means more time outdoors looking for birds and any other wild critters that happen along.  An otter here, a muskrat there.  Migratory birds we are always pleased to glimpse on their journey further north or west.  Migratory birds that stay in southcentral Alaska such as Sandhill Cranes and American Robins. All the fauna, big and small, we've been out and about looking for them.  

Yellow-rumped Warbler

A few days ago I realized I'm not often reaching for my camera or my phone these days.  I'm not regularly trying to capture things to either post here or save to my laptop or keep on my phone for occasional perusal.  Perhaps without realizing it, I've been choosing to be more in the moment, more mindful of what is in front of me rather than worrying about getting a clear image for later. 

wood frog

This dawned on me after spending the afternoon at a local lagoon with my husband.  We saw lots and lots of birds including a flock we spent a good deal of time trying to identify (we're 97-ish% sure they were Whimbrels).  More important by far than photographing them was spending a warm & sunny day with my husband, having lovely conversations with other birders, and simply enjoying the birds doing what birds do.  I ought to do this more often.

Belted Kingfisher

For this post I'm including photos taken in previous rambles.  

immature Red-necked Grebe

Zoophilist

What a funny word, zoophilist.  According to Merriam-Webster it means a lover of animals.  That, I am.  Not every insect appeals to me, but I'm hard-pressed to think of a single animal I wouldn't enjoy seeing.  Some form a safe distance, of course (badgers, bears, big cats, alligators, poisonous snakes, sharks - you get the idea).  But critters in general fascinate me, and I delight in getting to view them.

Week before last, Tim and I went south to Seward for a few days, and we were blessed with lots of sightings in both the wild and at the the Alaska SeaLife Center.  Before going to the ASLC, I looked at their website to see what we could expect.  I noticed the amount of time for a visit was suggested as 1-2 hours.  Off the bat I thought "well, I guess we better plan for 3-4 hours" knowing full well we'd want to see EVERYTHING and likely more than once.  I was not wrong.  

Steller sea lions, harbor seals, Tufted Puffins, Horned Puffins, Common Murres, Smews, King Eiders, sea cucumbers, sea stars, sea urchins, moon jellyfish, spot prawns, rockfish, skates, salmon, cod, crabs, etc., etc.  So many creatures to view and watch!  We had a blast.  One of their harbor seals is named Tuq, and he was found at a local beach when he was quite young.  He has a neurological disorder that causes his head to shake a bit.  I could have watched him for days.  One of their sea lions swam in circles through her tank over and over, seemingly watching us as we stood in place and giggled each time she passed by.  Never mind the birds!  Who isn't beguiled by puffins?  Enchanted by Black Oystercatchers?  Charmed by Red-legged Kittiwakes?  I very much envy the folks who work there even knowing that sometimes animals get sick or die, that they sometimes face funding challenges and certainly the upkeep and caretaking is constant.  And yet they seem like a happy bunch who love to share their knowledge with guests.  I learned a lot, and asked many, many questions.  The ASLC is a gem.  

This sea otter swam so close to our perch on the beach that we could hear it chewing!

Wandering about town and a bit beyond on our own, we saw some of the same creatures - seals, sea lions, murres, moon jellyfish (albeit dead).  We also saw lots of others - two sea otters, a humpback whale, a handful of moose, dozens of Bald Eagles, about a million gulls near the Pacific Seafood processing plant, Buffleheads, Common Mergansers, Common Goldeneye, Harlequin Ducks, Surf Scoters, cormorants, and a small sedge of Sandhill Cranes flying over the harbor.  We had heard cranes while walking the docks and eventually saw a group of five soaring high above the harbor.  This made me quite happy as Sandhills are one of my favorite birds and a species I anxiously await returning in the spring.  

We almost didn't take this mid-week trip to Seward.  The weather forecast was calling for rain and possible snow showers.  We were unsure what would be open in the off season as far as amenities go.  And neither of us has traveled since before covid except for work or to see family.  We're rather out of the habit of traveling for pleasure, but we're so glad we went.  The weather was miles better than we expected, the place where we stayed was one block from the beach, and we met many friendly locals all around town.  It pays to get out of your routine now and then.  

Trumpeter Swans

 

After spotting very large duck-like prints in the snow at a local marsh (my husband joked they were from a pterodactyl), we observed a lovely pair of Trumpeter Swans.  They were busy eating whatever vegetation they could find along the creek and eventually drifted in our direction.  It was such a treat to get a close up viewing.

There is still plenty of snow on the ground in our neck of the woods, but according to ebird.org, some migratory bird species have returned (goldeneye, Gadwalls, gulls, mergansers).  We've yet to go in search, but I hope to get out in the field more soon.  Some of these species only pass through on their route further north, and their time here is fleeting.  It's too early for Northern Pintails, Northern Shovelers, Arctic Terns, and yellowlegs but having daylight until 9 pm these days makes me hopeful for their return as well.   

Why does break up take so long?

Break up is the term Alaskans use for spring.  Despite living here for six years, I still yearn for spring on lower 48 terms.  More specifically, upstate New York spring that is usually a mixture of rain, sunny days warm enough to open windows, snow, skies the bleakest shades of grey, and then suddenly trees green up/bud and migratory birds return.  Here in Alaska, this all takes ages and ages.  Last year we had snow on the ground into May, and it seems this year will be much the same.  

So you can imagine my longing as I peruse blog posts by folks outside Alaska that are full of trees in bloom with fritillaries or snow drops or daffodils on the ground.  (While we're surrounded by dirty snow and pothole filled roads yet to be repaired.)  It's a type of cruelty to myself perhaps, but it also brings me a measure of joy and appreciation while stoking my pining for early summer - which is pretty much equivalent to spring where I grew up.  

Hooded Merganser drake

While waiting, I'll content myself with signs of seasonal change such as melting snow, increasing hours of daylight and hearing the heat kick on less often.