11 years ago in June, my oldest brother was killed in a car accident. She was already diabetic and overweight but until that moment, everything was stable. But the stress caused her slow decline. I was pregnant at the time, and she was healthy enough to help us paint my daughter’s room. After Grace was born, Mom was a huge help in taking care of her those first weeks. Grace is almost 11 now, and Mom can barely get around.

Since she went on dialysis, I’ve felt as though I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, just waiting for her death to push me off. Her kidney doctor didn’t think she’d make it two years on dialysis because of her heart condition, but until the last couple of weeks, she’s done very well, and he admitted she surprised him. But she’s still very sick, and we could lose her any day. I try to take it one day at a time and be grateful she’s still here, but it’s a struggle.

I truly thought we were going to lose her this time. Shortly after she was admitted to the University of Iowa Hospital two weeks ago, it just seemed like all her systems were shutting down. I had a conference to go to, and it was too late to cancel the hotel or airline. We stood to loose thousands, and she insisted I go. She said she’d be hurt if I didn’t. Walking out of that room that night was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I really thought she’d die before we got on the plane the next morning.

But yet again, she rebounded and is out of the hospital. But she’s still sick, and the reality is we’ll be lucky to get another couple of years for someone her age on dialysis.

So much of my life is spent waiting for the worst to come and fighting against that. I know I should cherish every day, and I honestly try to. But every time the phone rings, my heart stops.

How do we continue to enjoy and live our own lives when someone we love so much is in such a perilous condition? I feel guilty when I’m not worrying about her, and then I feel bad because I’m not giving my husband and daughter my full attention.

And in the back of my mind, there’s always the single, terrible question: what will I do without my mom?

There aren’t any answers, and I know I’m not alone in going through something like this. Watching our parents age and suffer is an awful thing, and I’m lucky I’m close enough to her to help take care of her. But there’s another part of me that’s angry, at both her and life for putting such a good person through such terrible things. She’s only 74, and she deserves better. I think of all the time I spent with her that I took for granted, all the little memories that have evaporated over the years. I should have cherished those moments, stockpiled them, journaled about them.

But that won’t lessen the pain of losing her. So I’ll continue to take things a day at a time and be grateful for whatever time she has left. I’ll also use her health issues as a motivator for my own life, so that I continue to get healthy and avoid the issues she’s dealing with. I don’t want to put my own daughter through this some day.

And to anyone with diabetes, please take care. I know weight is usually a mental issue, so seek therapy if you possibly can. Don’t underestimate what it can do to your body, and don’t underestimate the power of stress. Find healthy ways to cope, seek therapy or other help as needed. We only have one life, and we need to cherish it!

Fear of death is something I struggle with, and it’s a topic I tried to explore with Lucy Kendall. Why am I so afraid? Is it a lack of faith? I don’t think so. I believe in God and some kind of an afterlife, even if I’m not sure any single religion is correct.

I think the real crux of it is the idea that one day, I will be no more on this earth. That my own body will just cease. I will be dead. I go through periods of mild panic attacks, usually in the middle of the night, when for just a very brief, heart stopping moment, the truth fully dawns on me. Dead.

And yet, I am strangely drawn to anything morbid. Research is easy for me. Crime scene photos don’t bother me (unless they’re children). The whole idea of embalming and how long a body can last is fascinating to me.

But I hate funerals. I hate seeing them in the casket, all waxen and usually nowhere close to looking like themselves. Dead people in pictures don’t feel as real. It’s easy to see them as an object, something that’s not going to happen to me. Seeing the reality, surrounded by grief and the powerful scent of funeral flowers, I can no longer pretend.

Like all parents, I don’t want to pass my hangups on to my kid. I’ve been very upfront with Grace about death, and her attending a funeral has been a point of contention between my husband and me. He believed she was too young, I thought she needed to have the experience before someone she knew and loved passed on.

She attended our friend’s funeral. Before we left, I told her what to expect, explaining how people often are embalmed and then we pay our respects. I wanted her to understand that death and the body she may see was nothing to be afraid of. It’s a part of life we can’t dwell on, and we were there to honor him.

Grace handled it well. So did I, once I realized the casket was closed. Selfishly, I didn’t want to see that good man like that, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to calm my daughter’s fears if she got upset, because deep inside, I’m scared too. But she did witness the mourning process, and she understood the gravity of the situation.

I still fear death, and I still don’t know exactly why. But hopefully, by being open and honest with Grace, I won’t pass on the same fears to her.