I’m heading into the run of second anniversaries that begin in February and run for about 4 months – his surgery; the complications hitting and the roller-coaster of his illness; him dying.   Something I’m acutely aware of.

 

In my journey, the big anniversary for me is the March “complications hitting” anniversary.  That’s the day from which my life was never going to be the same again.   Ian’s death itself changed the tone of “never going to be the same”.

 

And right now, year three and beyond looks scarier than the first two.

Throughout this journey, I’ve never been worried about “surviving”. 

 

But this week, fear of the future’s suddenly risen to the surface. 

 

It’s always been there, I guess, but has come into sharp relief this week.

 

Fear of being alone.

 

Fear John will grow up, and then toss me to the wind.

 

Fear I won’t re-partner in the future; find someone for simple companionship.

 

Fear something will happen to either John or I.

 

Fear of the next 40-50 years that stretch out before me.