When I was a kid, I entertained some really dark thoughts.
On some nights, I would lie in bed and picture a world where my parents were gone. Dead. Died. Gone.
I did say that they were dark thoughts.
(The thought of being without parents is more harrowing for a single child like me, I think.)
As I let my imagination run wild, I would bury myself underneath my blanket and cry, cry and cry. Sometimes my sobs were loud enough for my parents to hear, and sometimes I just needed to reassure myself that they are still here and I would cry out for them. Either way, on nights like these, my parents would rush into my room to comfort me. Naturally.
They would sit on my bed, run their fingers through my hair and tell me that everything is all right and yes they are still here they are not going anywhere (well, for the time being anyway) please stop being so grim and go to sleep. Then my dad would continue —
He would continue to tell me that there would come a day when they will be gone and that is the inevitable truth. Even if scientists manage to find/discover/concoct the elixir for longevity chances are we won’t be able to afford it anyway so that’s a moot point. The point he was driving home really is that mortality is the nature of life and there’s nothing to do but to accept it. I would then cry – or rather, sob – myself to sleep while being comforted by the warmth of my parents’ bodies near me.
And so, it was on nights like these – between the snivels and the sniffles – that I learned about mortality.
(photo unrelated to story — I just really like it)