Here is a life goal, don't know where or when I picked it up: to die well. To live up to my responsibilities to my family and then, when I was done, get the f out of the way with the least fuss possible.
So much in my life has reinforced this, from the way my elders have passed on, to my conviction that my life has relatively little value in the larger scheme of things. I'm just not that important.
I'm not saying my kids don't love me. I'm can be a fun person, and I still have a bit of wisdom to share. But seriously, they have their spouses and kids and jobs. They are moving on, getting life done. I see their need for my and my relevance fading. I sure don't want to burden any of them with needing to wipe up my fluids even if I don't know them anymore.
So half-kidding today, I made the statement that my next major goal in life was to die a good death.
And I was told in no uncertain terms that this would not be allowed.
Doesn't matter how useless I am or how much my upkeep costs.
I am not to be allowed so much as a DNR order, if I even think about dying, I can just forget, they are going to wring every last bit of life out of me.
This is going to take some processing. I guess I always thought that they all mean more to me than I mean to them; and I don't mean just my family, I mean the world in general.
Seriously, I did not even realize anyone would care that much. I don't know what to do with the feeling. What in the world am I supposed to do with being loved?
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