It's not that I want to go there...

...but I can't help but think about mortality. Specifically, that of my parents.  It seems that every week we lose someone else who is part of their peer group.  I am getting scared, but trying, instead to focus on picturing them still here, still healthy for Mal's Communion in 3 years, for her transition into highschool.

When I look at it logically, it CAN happen-  I mean Dad will be 77 next month, Mom just turned 74. In 10 years they'd only be 87, and 84. Yes, I said only. I mean I know people who are that age, and older and independent, even!  On my mom's side, ages into the 90's and even past 100 are common. On my dad's-  well, few got the chance, but he can right?  He bikes, he doesn't need glasses for anything except that darn ol' phone book, he still carries all 41.4 lbs of Malia like she is a just a bag of sugar.

But, then something happens that sends my mind into a downward spin-  like, Dad slips going off my porch, last night, and lands, sitting, but elbow and arm scraped and bruised, skin instantly pale, shaken. In a moment we have determined that he is relatively okay; nothing broken, at least.  I get out the hydrogen peroxide, the witch hazel, the polysporin. I make him take 2 advil b/c I know he's not 16, or even 60, anymore, and dang, that is gonna hurt in about an hour. 

I look at my mom who is being brave, but looks as frightened as I feel.  And, it hits me, again, that time is precious.

People lose loved ones all the time, and they go on.  But, I am not ready, and God knows Malía needs time, lots of it with her beloved Vô-Vô and Vó-Vó. 

I think I will picture her wedding with her, as of yet elusive little sis, as the maid of honour, and my parents in their 90's, still beaming proudly at their two girls.