Fear The Reaper - June 9, 2012

If I die before I wake, I pray the lord my soul to take.  Genius for a kid, but not so much for a parent.  It works well for kids to keep them calm and make them feel safe, but not for me.  My version: if I die before I wake, don’t dare let me go into the light.  She needs you, type-A freak!  Wake up!  Run, don’t walk!

 

I fear the grim reaper.  The opposing (Don’t Fear) The Reaper pounds in my head, as I write this.  Let him take a long vacation and stay away from my soul, for her sake, not for mine.  She needs me.  She needs me more than I need caffeine.  And I need a lot of that, right now.

 

These thoughts charge my fear of dying, thanatophobia.  My last phobia for the week.  When you’re single, you’re looking out for number one.  And I’m number two now.  Babyface gets the top spot, so there are two to keep out of hell.  Three, if you count the other musketeer, but at least he can wipe his own a$$.

 

I am her foundation.  Her primary giver of hugs, kisses and good advice (well, good 80% of the time.  20% not-so-good).  I will veer her away from vices, until she no longer allows me to give her insight.  She’ll say, “I hate you” someday and it will bite, but I’m hoping I’ll still be here to hear it, to fight it.

 

As mothers, we all worry what will happen if we misstep, put our lives at stake or it just stops altogether.  The “what ifs” consume us sometimes.  Not everyday, but we all have our moments.  What if my flight dips, dives and crashes?  What if I stop breathing in my sleep?  What if some a$$hole cuts me off and I fly off a cliff?  What if I get the death penalty for a crime I didn’t commit (yes, too much Dateline)?

 

It’s ancient history that the man is the bread winner.  As SAHMs, we purchase the bread and if it wasn’t there, we would find a way to make the flour and the yeast to build and bake it.  We’re more resourceful, then the past “mother” has dictated.   We are the stem that carries the bud and eventually blooms.  We are the neck that lifts the head.  The later is a trite cliché for a reason.  Overuse means it makes sense to most; they can relate.

 

Then there is the nauseating, but silly.  Who will explain the birds and the bees without vomiting?  Who will help my daughter buy her first bra without vomiting?  Who will greet her first boyfriend without shooting him?

 

Thanatophobia never dies.  It may just live under our skin, until something scary skims us and brings it to the surface, but it always lives.  It’s the curse of a mother.  I’ll take it, if it means I’m her mother.  Being a mother can override any curse, as long as it doesn’t consume us.

 

My only advice, because it never hurts to be prepared: go to Nolo, Legal Zoom or anywhere else and get a will.  It’s not super cheap, but super worth keeping your kid out of the system.  Peace of mind can often keep it from coming into play.

 

I’ll fight tooth and nail before I’m flying over her singing Silent Lucidity by Queensryche.  It’s dark, but motherhood is often a black comedy.

 

Your mind tricked you to feel the pain
Of someone close to you leaving the game
Of life

So here it is, another chance
Wide awake, you face the day
Your dream is over…
Or has it just begun?

 

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