Star Light, Star Bright...I Wish I May, I Wish I Might

It would be nice to have an aunt or uncle, a cousin, perhaps even a grandparent to speak to, but no, at 33 I am the oldest living person in my bloodline. Considering the age my parents died (42 and 55), my future longevity does not look too bright. My brother is a workaholic and I fear that I will be the last surviving member of my family within the next 5 years. Yet, then again—my brother has the same fear but in reverse. Neither of us take the best of care of ourselves but there is not much we care to do about the situation except promise one another we will ‘work on it’. It is what it is and I am now firmly in the camp that it does not really matter how healthy I am—death will come when death comes.

I imagine death to be very much so like the fictitious Death character in the Monty Python Meaning of Life movie. There is a scene where Death stumbles upon a group of individuals at a house dinner party. He tries to claim their lives only to be rebuffed and asked by the group of people ‘how’ they died. Death responds that it was the salmon soufflé. After some quick embarrassment over not cooking the meal correctly, the group accepts Death’s answer and begin to follow him to their afterlife destination. Death, quite content with himself, is seen skipping along, merry as can be, with the group of newly deceased in tow behind him. A short ways away from the house one of the deceased says “wait a second, but I didn’t eat the fish” but it did not matter--he too is dead. The scene attempts to show that you do not always need a reason for death to occur. Fish or no fish—Death came to collect the entire group when he wanted.

Despite the irony and comical musings of Monty Python no one ever knows when your number is up. Morbid as it seems, I cannot escape the thoughts that I might only live for another 9 to 22 years if I am lucky. I wish I may live to be older than my mother was when she died at 42 (9 years from now), and I hope I might live longer than my father was able to who died at age 55 (22 years from now). The simple truth of the matter is that all I can do is live for today as if Death will be at my door the very next morning telling me I ate bad salmon the night before. I may live to see 42. I may live to see 55 or perhaps even 62. However, it is also possible that I do not live to see my 35th birthday as no one knows what the future holds.

Thinking of my own mortality is a scary concept and one I am not too comfortable with. I think often about whether I am happy at my job, in my life, with my friends. At 33, and with such a potentially short lifespan ahead, do I want to invest time in finding a husband, settling down and building a family? Do I want to continue to build a career and strengthen my friendships? What is the point if my life could be cut short in 20 years? Would it be fair of me to do this to a husband? Children? Colleagues? Friends? Of all of these scenarios the one that grips me most is the fear that if I were to have a child(ren) that I could leave them in a situation similar to mine—alone without any parents or family to reach out to. I know this is the grief and fear talking that makes me doubt everything. I find I invest time and energy to fret over the what if’s and could be’s. I am sure I am not the only orphaned adult to experience these thoughts and concerns. It does not matter if your parent died of cancer or if they were suddenly taken away from you—it is a type of fear we ‘orphans’ live with—what if they set the bar and we do not exceed that age?

These fears are simply that--fears. The future is unknown for everyone and I cannot allow myself to be crippled from experiencing life because of some unknown expiration date. I know that when I do go I want what everyone else wants: I want to be happy with the life I have lived, happy with what I do for a living, happy with my family and happy with my situation. I want no regrets—or as little regrets as possible. While my parents died young, and I ponder the longevity of my own life, I can only do one thing. Pull up my bootstraps, tackle the day ahead and have faith that tomorrow will come.

Star light, Star bright,
The first star I see tonight;
I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have the wish I wish tonight.