I realized something interesting tonight. I found it in a roundabout way, the way I usually discover something important - insight has to sneak up on me, I guess.
I spent years living with this fear that my son would die. I worried about it every day. I worried about how it would feel, how it would change my family's life. I worried about how we'd get along without him, because he was such a calm, loving person, and he really held us together with no effort whatsoever. He loved us. We loved him.
In the last year or two, he got sick a lot. He had pneumonia twice in the span of about 6 months, so it wasn't a way-off fear. It was real and way too close.
Then, it happened. He was gone. It's an odd feeling when your worst fear comes to pass. I faced it and it broke me, but I'm still here. I get up and face each day without my boy. The girls and I, we haven't given up.
Does this mean that I have nothing left to fear?
I'm not wasting any more time on fears. I'll still get scared, sure, but I'm not letting that stuff hold me back. I want to live bigger than I have in a long time. I took a huge step tonight and poured my heart out a bit. It could go one of two ways and either one is better than just staying stagnant, afraid to take a leap.