Dear Diary,
If bad things happen in threes, I’m not looking forward to the next few days. In the past week, I’ve had two experiences that brought me a little too close to death for my own comfort.
A few nights ago, I was taking a shower, when I suddenly got dizzy. My friends are well-acquainted with my constant problems with lightheadedness, accustomed to seeing me grab for any nearby object whenever I stand up too quickly. I’ve come close to passing out a couple times, but it hasn’t happened yet. I stood in the shower, hanging onto the towel bar, repeating “stay awake! stay awake!” over and over to myself as my legs shook and my vision slowly faded. I knew that if I passed out, I’d probably hit my head and/or drown. If I’ve learned anything from Elvis, it’s that no one wants to die in the bathroom. But I didn’t, and I laughed about it later, even though in reality it scared the hell out of me.
Tonight, we were in the car on I-35, driving back from southern Minnesota. Now, I admit that dying on the road might be the most appropriate end for me, considering the amount of time we spend road tripping. It’s kind of romantic. But not yet. A minivan pulled into our lane without checking first, and nearly sideswiped us. Heather drove part of the way into the ditch, then tried to pull back onto the highway and lost control of the car. The moment before I die, I do not want to have to stare into the headlights of an oncoming truck. I also do not want to realize that inertia has taken over, and it’s simply a matter of chance whether the car flips or not. As it turned out, we did a 360 through three lanes of traffic and ended up in the ditch again, very shaken but alive. The minivan driver didn’t even stop.
What I’ve learned from this is that when it’s my turn to go, I don’t want to know about it in advance. I don’t need time to make preparations and say goodbye to family and friends. I don’t want to have to think, “I’m not going to make it through this.” I want it to happen when I’m not looking. I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the one to look Death in the face. I’d rather he climbed through the window at night and killed me in my sleep.
I’ve realized that dying doesn’t scare me, but it does make me angry. I still have too many things left to do. I don’t think I’ll regret anything that’s happened in my life, but I will regret the experiences I haven’t had yet. At what point do you decide you’ve done everything you set out to do, and are ready for the end? That’s something I don’t want to know.
Jenni