The 5 Year Phobia

July 10th, 2008

In a previous post, I mentioned how I have a bit of the crazy going on this year. I know this is going to sound silly, maybe even bizarre, but it is what it is for me, and I’ve not yet figured out how to stop being afraid of things are, frankly, borderline ridiculous.

When I was 5 years old, my Dad died after a long battle with lung cancer. It was the first day of Kindergarten. I’ll keep a long story short by saying the rest of my school experience (yes, all the way through HS graduation) thoroughly sucked.

Somewhere along the line I decided that I’d never get married or have kids, because I saw what it was for my Mom to lose a husband, and I never wanted my children to go through the pain of losing a parent. But I also worried about an uglier twist of fate, and that would be losing a child. Then, of course, I grew into adulthood and that whole “falling in love” business shattered my plans. Go figure.

I battled cancer myself as a young adult, and I cursed God for his cruelty and wondered what I had done to deserve it. I was afraid of going to sleep, afraid of not waking up. Although my cancer was caught early and I knew I was going to make it, chemo will easily make you feel as though you are definitely going to die, and I could not shake the fear. I was told by numerous doctors that I’d never have children, and I found that I was actually glad. I thought if I ever desired kids, I’d simply adopt. End of story.

I met my now husband. He married me knowing I couldn’t have children. He said he didn’t care, and he meant it. We conceived our son on our honeymoon. He is an amazing kid, healthy, full of joy. He loves life. I am a better person for having him.
However. He just turned 5 years old. He will begin kindergarten in August. I am terrified that something will happen to DH. No matter what I do I can not shake the fear of losing my husband, and my son losing his father. I understand that my fear is irrational, unfounded, even pointless. The knowledge does nothing to ease the fear and panic. It makes me angry with myself for disallowing my common sense to take over. It frustrates me that I’m so… superstitious? Would that be it?

So there it is. I even feel weird typing it out, but it’s true, and I don’t run from truth anymore. I just need to figure out how to better deal with it, I guess.

Entry Filed under: BeBe, Schmoopy, Life