if i die young

if i die young, bury me in satin sun; lay me down on a bed of roses. sink me in the river at dawn. send me away with the words of a love song

i’ve been dreaming of dying lately. daydreaming, sleepdreaming, i’m-talking-to-you-but-i’m-still-dreaming. it’s been on my mind.

dawndawn

and i realize: if i die today, or tomorrow, or on april 29th, i’ll be okay.

i’ll be sad, never having held my child, never cheering him on at his soccer games or helping him with his math homework or holding his hands to jump over his first wave; never able to show him how much i love him. i’ll miss holding boomer and chasing squirrels with her and kissing her sweet little nose. i’ll miss being her best friend and i’ll miss her being mine. i’ll regret not being able to see A grow into his own, miss being able to urge him on to achieve his goals, his dreams. but i know he will, so it’ll be alright.

nothing about myself though. nothing about my life will i regret. it won’t matter that i didn’t go to austin, that i’m not in med school, that i didn’t get to help build a pile of savings for my beautiful family. i won’t be disappointed that i never saw the ocean again, never danced on the swells, never felt the sun penetrating my skin as it can only after hours spent on the glistening waves. i won’t cry at never having hunted, never feeling the loss of life that fed mine, never understanding. i’ll have had enough to feel in my small life. i’ll have loved.

if anything, i will regret not loving more. in small ways: not being able to convince my dad to eat paleo; not smiling more; not being kinder. in big ways: living an ordinary life in an ordinary way instead of an extraordinary way, settling into routine instead of comfort, refusing to forgive.

but overall, i’ll have lived a good life. and i’ll miss it. but it’ll be okay.

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