How Not To Die

After the events of last weekend, I have been thinking about death. I know it’s morbid.

My pastor is fond of saying the death rate waivers around 100% and I’m not afraid of death. But last weekend, I was afraid of how I die and who I would leave behind.

The husband and the boy were in Alabama at a NASCAR race last weekend. Their fascination with racing is another story all together. Needless to say, it’s ok with me that I’m not included in their race plans.

The girl was at the farm, doing an endless riding lesson.

I was in downtown DC getting choked by a homeless man. It’s not how I thought I would go.

To say that my life flashed before my eyes is an exaggeration because it didn’t. To say I was totallly terrified is an understatement and I was. I knew there was going to be pain from the moment the man’s hands went around my neck to the moment I was actually going to die.

I always thought that I would die peacefully in my bed, with my family surrounding me. Not in a park in DC, strangled by a homeless man while the husband and the boy are cheering on Dale Earnhardt Jr. and the girl was riding a horse.

We really do not normally have this much excitement in our lives. Most of the time, we are going to work, going to school, going to church and yelling at kids to clean up their rooms. I’m ready to go back doing just that.