My mom recently said, “The biggest problem with being in love with someone, is if they die.”
Nail on the head. My biggest fear has always been losing the one I love.
The fear of my ex-husband dying manifested itself in dreams. It would be a car accident, a fall, some horrible sickness that rendered me having to pull the plug, aliens, zombies, bear attack, etc. I’d wake up crying, desperate to know he was okay. In some ways, when that fear dissipated, I knew the relationship was over. He’s still alive and well, thank goodness (even if we haven’t been together in ages).
When my grandfather died, my grandmother was inconsolable for a very long time. Even now, almost five years later, her eyes well up when she speaks his name. The romance that spanned more than half of her life ended, and she was left alone to pick up the pieces. I remember when she transitioned from sadness to anger. How dare he leave her behind? How dare the universe/God do such a thing? Perhaps she was a hopeless romantic. Perhaps she hoped they’d hold hands and drift away together in their sleep. In reality, he died in her arms. I think she was very lucky.
Having been single for some time, I completely forgot what this fear even felt like. I was blissfully enjoying being unattached and nonchalant, and then a last-minute OKCupid date progressed into two people having to consider when to meet the parents. Suddenly, the fear was back.
A few weeks ago, while in my apartment, he felt ill and lost consciousness for about five seconds. If you’ve never had a person you care about collapse in front of you, consider yourself lucky. Scary does not even begin to describe it. The feeling of helplessness, a realization that this could have been much worse had you not been there, the basic level of humility that underlines such an event — this knocks you down a peg. There is no room for putting your best foot forward. This is us as fallible humans. This is the kind of shit that comes at you at 1 o’clock in the morning. This is real life.
In the end, he was fine. A quick visit to the ER, an IV full of fluids, some pain meds and he was good as new. We were already laughing on the way back, naming the night “Baby’s First Ambulance Ride”. (It was my first.) That night, when he fell asleep after coming home from the hospital, I pressed my lips against the back of his neck and whispered “I love you” four or five (dozen) times, then fell asleep about an hour later, thanking the universe for keeping him safe.
The curious thing about this fear is that it represents something much bigger. It only comes around when I really, truly love someone. And so when it comes, I embrace it. I embrace knowing that life is short, and there are no guarantees. The person I care about may not be here tomorrow. So I spend each day reminding him that I love him, and I cherish him, and that I am thankful for whatever time we have together. If that be a decade, or a year, or a month or even just a day, the reminder that he may not be here that long ensures that I never take him for granted. Truth be told, a part of me hopes this fear sticks around for a long time to come, because as long as I am terrified, I am in love.
