death is scary

It feels ominous to even talk about this subject. I will anyway.

Death is terrifying. Ever since I was a small girl, I’d think about death. Not my own death. I wasn’t really scared about myself dying. In fact, I’d always think, better me than whoever. But a recurring theme was the death of my parents. Especially, my dad. My dad is older than my mother and I was always aware that.

I remember countless nights, where I’d not been able to fall asleep. So, what would my mind do? It would wonder into the deepest, darkest pits of the unknown: death. My fathers. The funny thing is, I was less closer to my father then than I am now. But still, I’d lie in bed, and I can still to this day, vividly remember each scenario I created in my head. Thinking that maybe, maybe if I played them out in my head enough, I could shed all the tears away now, so that when that time eventually came, I’d be strong enough for my mum.

I am lucky to have both my parents still alive. Neither are even retirement age yet, but I think I’m writing this because I’m having similar feelings to that of a ten-year-old me. Laying awake at night, listening to the rain fall, and letting my mind spiral out. I think a resurgence is in place due to it being close to one of my uncles death anniversaries just passing, and another one who is currently not in the best health.

I guess tonight, I’m at odds with the universe – forever doting on an explanation, something logical or at least, believable (to keep me going till I die).

To close, I think you can tell winter is coming as my posts have gotten a bit morbid… someone book me a holiday, I need that vitamin D.

Published by C. De Sousa

Literally talking to myself through this blog, but enjoy.

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