The circle of life

I've thought about my own death before without too much anxiety, but now that I have a kid, I have come to the realization that the idea of dying scares the fuck out of me.

In a previous life where I embraced my Catholicism and wholly accepted that heaven and hell and all that existed, I sometimes speculated on what would happen to my soul after I died, and I did this without fear. I mean, even when we're asleep we're conscious and aware of our existence in some form or another, so surely when you die, your soul or consciousness will continue to live on in whatever way, right? But in giving up religion, I've had to confront and re-question what happens when you die. I've had to ponder the idea of simply ceasing to be and everything associated with existing--my subconscious, my consciousness, being self-aware, etc--just shutting off like a light switch. And that has been one of the most frightening, enigmatic things I've ever thought about, particularly now that my kid is around.

Numerous times, I've been home doing dishes or vacuuming or taking a shower while the baby is napping, and I'll feel my head throb for a second or I'll have a quick dizzy spell; nothing alarming. But what's triggered in my demented mind?

"What if I have a brain aneurysm and drop dead right now?"
"What if I go into cardiac arrest while the kid is playing on the floor?"
"If I'm dead, will the dog go after the baby?"
"If I'm lying dead on the floor, will the kid be ok until my hubs gets home from work?"

Or, as equally disturbing:

"What happens if a serial killer breaks in and kills me? What will happen to the baby? Will he/she take the baby? Will the baby grow up in some twisted Lifetime movie and never know about his real parents? Jesus, I need therapy and medication."

When I went back to work, I was sad and anxious because I didn't want to miss anything. I didn't want to be at work when my kid took his first steps by himself or said his first words. But after I worked through that in my head, a new worry seeped into my brain. What if I die and miss my baby's childhood? His adolescence? His adulthood? The thought of this happening is too much for me to bear, so most of the time I choose to just push these thoughts aside and not confront them. Once in awhile, my husband and I will discuss who we'd like to ask to take the kid if we both die in a fiery car crash or something, and that's about the extent of that. I cannot fathom not being around to see my baby grow up. I cannot go through that. Universe, are you listening? That scenario isn't going to work for me, so just forget it. It's not an option.

Conversely, when I hear news stories about parents whose children die, I wonder if I will ever find myself in that position. I have lost two babies by miscarriage, and while those losses were devastating they were very early on in my pregnancies. I believe it would be a vastly different experience to have a living child die. I hope I never have to see what that experience entails.

Parenthood has brought a lot of my inner neuroses out into the ether of the real world, clearly. My newfound fear of dying is just one in a long list.