My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Friday, August 22, 2014
Fear of Dying
He was telling me how afraid he is of dying. He is terrified of what is not even a likelihood, much less an actual prospect. Perhaps were it closer he would not have been so afraid. Maybe had death come near enough to be recognized he might not have wanted to run. Death is an aspect of life and while it is more uncertain than some others it is not an aspect that need engender such dread. I wished he were not so afraid, but I did not wish him closer to it so that he might better understand. Instead, I said what I so often do. I said, "It will be all right."
Labels:
dying,
familiarity,
fear,
reassurance,
therapy,
uncertainty
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