Death

I had a very lovely Christmas with my family this past weekend.  My mom only made me cry once, but that was today so at least the holiday was pleasant.

There were two uncomfortable things that happened, though.  One, I noticed how often we McGees interrupt and talk over one another.  It's horribly rude and sadly, I know I do it, too.  Luckily, most of my friends are the same way.  At least I think they are...oh shit, is that the only way you can get a word in edgewise with me?  SORRY.

Two, we were sitting at the kitchen table and my parents told Rip and I about their plans for the future.  Yada, yada, yada, then my mom mentioned "if one of us dies..." and I brainfarted.

If one of them dies.  Jesus.  Sometimes when I was really mad at them I'd wish they were dead.  That was angsty, mean, asshole shit and I regret it, especially now that they are getting older.  Granted they are still relatively younger than some of my friends' parents, my dad being 61, Mom 58, but still.

My mom's dad died at 62 from a heart attack.  He also had Alzheimer's, but I'm not sure if that has anything to do with dying young.  My other grandparents died over 75.

Excluding Grandpa Crowley, if history is any indicator my parents have about 15-20 years left. I don't like this one bit.

My parents just dropped me off after we visited my aunt and uncle in Long Island.  Once I got upstairs I had this insane urge to write about their death and death in general.  Hopefully this post isn't a jinx.

I'm a believer in the afterlife, spirits, The Larger, and Heaven in the sense that when you die you are somewhere good and peaceful.  I don't really believe in Hell, although I have thought maybe Earth is hell and you just keep coming back until you are a good person. My own personal hell would be an eternity long panic attack I can't get out of. I assume most mentals would agree.  My point is I'm not worried about what happens to them after they die. I can't do anything about it, nor is there any proof as to what actually occurs, so I find comfort in believing the deceased is always with me.  Not when I'm naked, of course.

What's really bothering me is imagining my life without them.  I never thought about it before, probably because I've only felt love and a connection to them in recent years.  Once my mom started talking about their death, my heart sank and my face got sad.  Wait, what?  What do you mean you're going to die?  Worse is, ONE of you might die and then the other has to live life alone?  My parents are retarded for each other, if they die they both have to go at the same time.  They have to, right??

Okay say they do both die. SHIT. I am really, really sad thinking about this.  Thinking how I'll never hear my dad's booming voice, laugh, or awesome "hail a cab NYC whistle" that I can't do.  I won't be able to call my mom and tell her about my day or hear her insane one-liners and weird noises, two quirks I'm extremely happy were passed down to me.  The both of them are silly bozos and I love it. I love them.

I guess this is what I really wanted to write about.  Not death, but life.  My parents' lives are full of love, passion, crazy, pain, laughter, more crazy, fun, everything.  It's not always easy to be around my mom, but I can't imagine not being ABLE to be around her or my dad. Blerg.

I love my parents. I love my brother. I love my family. I love my friends.

Writing this post helped me uncover a self-truth....What I fear most about death is living with a broken heart.

The end.