Our insurance agent called a few weeks ago and suggested we come in, before our birthdays, to review our insurance policies and to make sure we had enough coverage—you know, “in case.”
My first instinct was to say, “No, thank you,” because we have policies already on each of us. But then I figured it wouldn’t hurt to listen to what she has to say.
Now I’m nervous because thinking about death—what happens to my kids after I’m gone—is just too much to take. Of course I want them to be taken care of, but by me. I want to be there. For them. Forever.
But I know that’s not the way it works. I know there will be a day when I am no longer here (*deep breath*) and my kids will only have each other to hang on to. Lord willing, I’ll be around for a while, but who knows? No one knows when their time is up, so it’s wise to prepare for the future.
I guess part of getting older is coming to grips with your mortality. I may not like it, but I have no control over it, but each day that I get to spend with my children is a blessing. My cousin lost her 5-year-old son last year and I cried like a baby even though I had never even met him.
Life is short, sometimes tragically so.
My husband lost his mother ten years ago this month and I’ve seen firsthand the pain of being mother-less. It’s hard on him and his siblings, even as the years tick by. I asked my husband what was the one thing he remembered most about his mother. His response?
“I remember how much she loved me.” What a perfect answer.
And that’s all we want, right? That’s all I want. I want my kids to understand that I love them. With all the air I breathe, with every ounce of my soul. I love them. So much, sometimes, that it almost hurts. If I do nothing else, I will show them that they are loved unconditionally and that there is nothing they have to do to earn my love. It’s already here. Always has been and always will be. Forever and ever.