Paralyzed

I've only ever known a few people who have died.  I was too young to understand when my great grandfather passed.  I decided not to go to, my beloved bus driver, Ms. Lynn's funeral when I was older and part of me regrets that.

Funerals muster up a feeling in me reminiscent to the one I had as a child, lying in bed, in the dark, and mulling over eternity and the absence of life in a human being.  The wrenching and twisting started in the very base of my stomach, tensing my entire core, until my lungs felt as though they were constricting.  I remember rushing into the living room many nights past bedtime and hyperventilating whilst attempting to explain my utter incomprehension of 'forever' to my father .

As I have gotten older, I can't say these emotions have vanished.  Repressing the physical breakdown has gotten easier, but the feeling.. something like the first hill of a roller coaster flip of the stomach, hasn't subsided when I think about dying.  

I fear enough for all of us.  Fear for the singularity and finality of the event for one individual.  It's hard to admit, and I'm not being harsh, but we all die alone.  

One of my favorite characters said once,  "To die would be an awfully great adventure."  

I keep telling myself to think like this in order to fully enjoy the adventure available to me while I am still here and breathing, rather than losing my breath over something no one can predict.