Over the last several months, Mortality – mine specifically – has become a thought that I never would have contemplated in the way that I do now.

Is this a sign of maturity?  Is my age coming into play and messing with me?  Is there something deeper that hasn’t quite made itself more tangible mentally and emotionally that’s making its presence felt?

A few weeks ago, an acquaintance suddenly passed on.  The first notification that I received about this – a quote that had been posted from her Facebook account – left me in disbelief.  Her account HAD to have been hacked, right?.

It had not.  It took most of that day for me to START embracing the fact that she’d actually passed on.

In watching the news, I hear of deaths FREQUENTLY.  The ones that garner most of my attention are those of people younger than I am…  Of those “around” my age.

It’s no secret to anyone that really knows me that I used to be a HUGE Pro Wrestling fan.  One of my hobbies was to write stories of fictional Pro Wrestlers amongst an entire group of like-minded men and women.  Not only were we expressing our creative sides in telling these stories, but collaborating with each other while sharing our affinity for that particular industry.

What does Pro Wrestling have to do with your thoughts on your mortality?

It’s the recent passing of a wrestler killed in a head-on collision; two of his children in the car with him (currently dealing with injuries of their own) that captivated me at the time.

What stands out most about his passing is hearing/reading all of the comments of others who knew him, who had worked with him describe his family as being his entire world, his very soul.  EVERYONE talked about how much of a family man he was.

It’s THOSE testaments that have stuck with me most.

FAMILY.

As I type these words, the three-year anniversary of Moms’ passing looms.  Each death that I hear about reminds me of her AND Daddy.  EVERY.  SINGLE.  ONE.

2020 was easily among the most psychologically, emotionally and spiritually traumatic years in our shared existence.  I’m NOT going to get into the politics of this…  Because politics don’t matter.  I consider the trauma a FACT, whether “WE” want to embrace that notion or not.

Mine isn’t a unique situation.  MANY of us lost loved ones due to COVID, whether directly or indirectly.  If those losses weren’t due to COVID, the overall timing coinciding with it found us hypersensitive in ways that we weren’t really ready to handle…  That we may not yet be able to handle.

The truth of the matter is that Moms’ health had taken a turn for the worse prior to all of the news; before COVID had a name.

Maybe, this post and my hypersensitivity about My Mortality is a way of reconciling some things surrounding her passing.

I PROUDLY proclaim myself to be a Momma’s Boy: not even trying to hide that fact.  Anyone that ever tried to use that as an insult found it ineffective.  Their definition may have been meant to be an insult…  But THEIR definition NEVER mattered to me.  It was MY interpretation of what that meant.

Here’s MY Ugly Truth when it comes to Moms’ passing: I let my fear of seeing her in the condition that she was in be THE reason to procrastinate on seeing her until it was literally too late.

NOT my definition of being a Momma’s Boy; NOT one of my prouder moments.

Don’t get me wrong…  If someone else were to echo my thoughts and feelings going into it, I’d TOTALLY understand where they were coming from.  But that’s really no excuse.

Overcome Your Fear, because Tomorrow Is Promised To NOBODY.

That’s what I’d suggest because I’ve been there and understand.  There’s a guilt that I live with because of my inaction: I’ve accepted it and moved on, but it could have been avoided had I acted MONTHS earlier than I attempted to.

Which brings me back to Mortality.

My kids aren’t Kids any more.  In the blink of an eye, both will be of age where they’re considered adults.

The silver on my chin almost completely covers it; my mustache is starting to be more silver than black and the temples are starting to get that “salt and pepper” look when I let my hair grow long enough.  There are other indicators, but I’ll spare the litany of those right now.

The Ravages of Time.

I COULD spout off all of the cliches about aging and taking advantage of opportunities NOW.

Honestly, none of them matter.  The FACT of the matter is that our days are numbered from conception.  I’ve just crossed the threshold where The Kid In Me has finally realized that THE Clock IS ticking.

Mature or Morbid?

I’ll leave that for YOU to decide.