I knew from the age of twenty-eight that I might die the way my mother did. An ultrasound confirmed the hereditary kidney disease that had taken her, her sisters, and her mother far too young. That day I began to understand what it means to live in fear of dying, something most twenty-somethings don’t have any business understanding.
Our hearts sometimes can’t hear our heads through the fog of fear. Though my head knew that medical science had progressed in those years since my mother’s death, my heart knew only its own experience. If I died at the same age she had—fifty—I would leave a youngest child the same age her youngest child had been when she died. That child was me.
See the rest of the story today over on THE GLORIOUS TABLE. Do we want to live in fear or do we want the victory lap?