full of moxie and viscosity

Some days you can feel yourself getting older.

As I held Ian in my arms yesterday, Tuesdays with Morrie was on the tellyvision (I am subjected to watch the telly on occasion at the twins' house. It's not horrible, but it's not great, either). If you know anything about Tuesdays with Morrie, you know that the subject matter is the meaning of life and the meaning of death.

Now, I consider myself a rational, mature human being. Most of the time, anyway, I consider myself rational and mature. But as Morrie started talking about death, about how it's inevitable and how we're all in denial of our own mortality, I panicked. My father has to die. My mother has to die. And of all of the things in the world that scare me, those two are the most uncontrollable and the most terrifying.

So with the warm, round head of Ian snuggled into my bosom (he is the snuggliest of the two, even when he's really alert and awake, he just wants to be up against a chest, warm), I cried, uncontrollably, terrified. The child was the most important thing in the entire world, but one step removed. What happens to me if I never have children and then my parents die? WHAT HAPPENS TO ME IF I NEVER HAVE CHILDREN AND THEN MY PARENTS DIE? What will I be living for? I cried with him in my arms for an hour, the television on mute, his head in my hands. I was shaking by the time I was through, but I'd worked through my attack. I don't get to choose what I live for, I just have to saturate myself in it while I can.