The End That Was Not

The world was supposed to end on 21/Dec/2012. Or 22/Dec/2012. Whatever. But it did not.

For me, it wasn't such a great thing. I mean, the world not ending. If the world had ended, everyone I loved would have perished along with me. And that would have been good.

I have lost so many people to death that I am now terrified to lose a single more person. There are times when I am in a constant state of dread, wondering whose loss I would now have to bear. As I grow older, the losses pile up, and the bearing up becomes tougher and tougher. The guilt of having survived increasingly stings, and I wonder why I was not the person who was taken away. I would rather go as I am right now, though not very well, but still healthy, with no persistent pains. If I were to die, I would escape the increasing decay of the body, which I abhor, and more importantly, avoid the pain of losing more loved ones.

In my quieter moments, I increasingly find myself mulling over my losses. I can't shake myself out of the nameless panic of going steadily downhill on the road of life. Worse, I no longer find myself looking forward to any gains, only a string of losses.

Except from the direction of my daughter. Bless her.