||Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
– Emily Dickinson
I’ve never really thought about it. Death, that is. The only time I thought I was truly dying turned out to be something quite trivial, and it happened too quickly for me to ponder the “consequences”, whatever they may be.
But now my dad’s sick. I don’t even know what – my parents won’t tell me. I suppose they want to protect me, as if I’m still a little kid who needs to be quarantined from all the badness in the world.
It’s scary to see the one person whom I’ve always looked up to, whom I thought was infallible, is now as fragile as a shard of glass that’s about to break into a million little pieces. My dad has lived an impeccable lifestyle. He doesn’t smoke, only drinks moderately, is active and eats healthily… there’s no reason for him to be sick at the age of 48, except he is.
A life without my dad would be unimaginable. He is the only constant in my life… the only person I love. If he falls apart, so would I.