What if this is my ending? What if I only have a few weeks left in which to make memories with those whom I love? What if something goes terribly wrong in my surgery? There are no guarantees, which I understand.

I harken back to my first cancer surgery and I remember vividly hugging my now ex-husband, thinking the worst. Like this could be the last time. I had two little kids at home who were blissfully unaware that their mom had really bad cancer. With the first surgery I didn’t stop breathing on the OR table, but in a subsequent one, I did. While they revived me, and I didn’t know for awhile that it had even happened (nobody told me), I fear the worst again.

What if…

Part of me thinks, well, then that’s it. Pack it up and move to the stars. I wouldn’t be able to change anything anyway. So why put effort into the fear? I’ve always thought we have a predestined death date that will come no matter what. So, why am I so fearful that this may be it? If I can be at peace, knowing that I have done all that I could in this lifetime then, so be it.

But I know I haven’t done all I could have. And yet, where does this leave me?

Back to square one…searching for answers, hence my posting on my blog.

Thanks for reading…and letting me process.