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?!