Love of Mine, some day you will die

Zach was deathly ill for part of the weekend. Neither of us is generally the healthiest person ever, but this was different. Watching him, and knowing that all I could really do was little things like get medicine and applesauce, little things that can help him be slightly more comfortable, but won't really fix whats really wrong. Being so helpless and worried isn't the funnest thing ever. Really, I was a little scared - silly, but true. Of course things were considerably worse for Zach, what with being the actual sick person and all - but I'm the one writing so this is about me me me.

It's more than a little disconcerting to think that yes, eventually one of us will probably die. Personally I hope I go first. I just don't want to ever have to deal with any of that. Plus, I've made Zach promise that he can't remarry unless I specifically appear to him and give him permission - messages spelled out in alphabits or other such ambiguos signs don't count. No way am I meeting him and Mrs. Number 2 who i do not approve of in heaven and having him say "But I thought you told me it was ok through this random occurance that could be just a coincidece and coudl mean anything!" It's me appearing or nothing. I'm selfish like that. (Ok, I would want him to be happy and if he meets someone who makes him happy, I suppose I could deal. I'd just rather he was happy with just me.)

Of course in my ideal scenario we live nice, happy healthy lives together. We have kids together and work together and have adventures together, and then have a happy semi-retirement where we enjoy doing whatever we want and just generally being awesome. Maybe we travel teh world or start some foundation that helps educate blind girls in Uzbechistan or something. And then in our late eighties or so, one of us just sort of slips away in their sleep, and the other follows close behind. One of those adorable old couple things.

But what if it doesn't work like that? Zach could be hit by a car in the next five minutes. Which actually wouldn't be that surprising - the man darts into streets with very clear red lights all the time. It's terrifying. I usually follow him when he engages in such reckless behavior when we're together specifically in the hopes that I'll be hit to, so we won't have to deal with this. But that's hardly the only possibility. There could be some horrible flesh eating disease. Or our stove could fatally explode. Or the roof could cave in. Or a million other things. (apparently I'm more than a little unsure about the quality and safety of our apartment)

I just can't imagine what I would do if something were to happen. How do people handle that? How do you find out? How do you tell people? How do you even begin planning for, paying for a funeral, especially so far from either of our homes? What about when its done? How do you keep living, just pretending to have a normal life again? Do you forget? Do you even want to? What do you do? I don't know, and frankly I never want to.

None of this is terribly likely of course. I'm still counting on nice long lives for both of us, growing old together. But every now and again the "what ifs' seem a little to close for comfort.