I’ve been struggling the last couple nights as I rest in bed in an anything but restive state. I’m feeling a sense of foreboding as my breath struggles, my chest feels heavy. It’s like anxiety, but it’s not. It’s different. Which…. then… makes me think, “What’s wrong with me?” Then I think of Nolan.
I often wonder what sensations he felt before his unexpected death from myocarditis (inflammation of the heart). He was a healthy 13 year old boy living a healthy 13 year old boy’s life of running, laughing, eating, playing. And BAM, DEATH! It crept into my house in the still of that horrible December night.
So my overly hypochondriac mind often goes to a very dark place wondering if I, too, have unknowingly been attacked. Is my heart failing like his?
Then, my thoughts grow even darker to that place that I try to avoid and have since I was a child. Death. Nothingness. No God, no heaven, nothing.
I don’t want that to be the case. I struggle. I want faith. But none of it makes sense. None of it. And I lie in bed thinking these thoughts. Thinking how when we die, we probably just die. The end. And I’m scared. And I’m sad. And I’m beyond scared. And I think of life and what I love and never having it again. And then my chest hurts even more.