I used to be so scared to die. I still am, I won't lie. Even to go "peacefully" in your sleep doesn't seem so peaceful. To not know that you were going to bed on your sleep comfort number 45 and then never wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon again scares the crap out of me. But at the same time, when it happens traumatically, I am sure it is just as scary. Or to suffer through it with sickness you can't fight, would be depressing.
So does that mean that whether or not we know it is going to happen, we have to accept it?
Or can we pretend that everything looks like Willy Wonka's world and Lucy is in the sky with diamonds?
I had a friend tell me today that her man had a dream I died and that he woke up scared and trying to cry. They are both real close to me and she was worried about me. I almost cried after she told me.
I started thinking, what if my days were numbered? I mean they are, all of ours are, but what if I knew. Especially when I had been thinking about it so much lately.
I would not go into death being scared of it, even though I am an evil bitch sometimes. I don't think I deserve hell, if there is one. It can't be more statistically worse than the reservation. I think I would be more worried about what my kids would do without me. My boys have been spending alot of time with their dad lately, my mom has my princess, I would just pray they could be everything I want them to be without me around and can handle not having me around. That is all I would want.
And some bad ass jams to go out to. Oh...and to be buried in the spot my dad wants me to build a house.
*didn't mean to freak anyone out with this blog, but when someone has a dream that you died, it kinda makes you think about it.