As 2014 draws to a close and I think about what the future holds and I am not feeling overwhelmingly optimistic. Sure I know that the world will still turn and that soon enough it will be 80 degrees again but I can’t help but obsess about the end. The big end. Mortality. It’s not my end that I worry about. Ok - I just giggled when I read that last sentence. Yes, I do worry about my end and it getting bigger from all the caramel corn! Time seems to be moving lightening fast and “slipping, slipping, slipping into the future” to quote a classic rock classic. In hours, 2014 will be history. I’ll be another year older and somewhat wiser than when the year began?

When I was in my twenty’s I would worry and pray to God that my Father wouldn’t die. I would bargain with God to please keep him around until I was at least thirty and in return I would be the best Motley he had ever seen. I would rationalize that at thirty, I would be able to handle that kind of huge loss. Thirty always seemed like the epitome of adulthood. I would be strong, successful and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. At thirty, I would have a husband and two kids and all the support I could dream of. Selfishly, that was what I worried about most - my support would be gone and I would free fall into life. By support I don’t mean financial (although he did send me some cash from time to time and I did not send it back). My Dad always encouraged me to be the best me, to do what I wanted, don’t half-ass shit and to not take shit from anyone. Without my Dad, think of all the shit I would have to take! He believed in me.

I still worry. It borders on maybe I should get some help. I think it is more worrying about not being able to handle it and maybe losing that strength that my father has instilled in me. At the precipice of 47, I have never been to a funeral (I did wait in the car once when a friend had to make an appearance at a funeral but that doesn’t count). I have not lost anyone close to me. I have not touched death. This doesn’t count my beloved Savannah who died at the age of 19 or 92 in cat years. Besides all the love and support she gave me, she also taught me about grief. I guess you could say I am very lucky to have avoided the grief of losing a loved one for so long, 200 years in cat years to be exact! Savannah was Irreplaceable, to quote Beyonce. (Just read the lyrics for that song and it totally doesn’t work for this reference, I just love that song.)

I’m sure I am not the only person who does this...I say I’ll call Dad on Tuesday at 2pm and suddenly its Wednesday at 5pm and I didn’t call. Maybe if I avoid making the call, it means everything is OK and I don’t have to worry. I did call on recent a Saturday. We spoke for a few minutes but had to hang up rather quickly as to not anger my Mom. (That’s a whole other Oprah that I’ll blog about later.) Then I promised myself that I would call again on Christmas. I did and I got the answering machine. My worry is triple fold now. Why do we have to age? Doesn’t it make more sense that good people live three times as long as the bad people? Maybe evolution will work some magic with our DNA. I thought about a eulogy and I don’t think I could do it without a couple bottles of wine and after that I surely couldn’t deliver such a thing. So here is my plea to all of my loved ones! Please don’t die! I love you all and my life won’t be the same without you. And don’t be creep’d out if I check to see that you are breathing when you are asleep on the couch or abruptly ask about your cholesterol levels.

I seriously lost a little sleep last night worrying about losing my Dad. I woke up and checked my email and my Dad had b’friended me on Facebook!

Happy New Year!