Am I obsessed with death?
Yes? But it’s not weird or macabre. There is life then death follows. That is inevitable for all of us. Sometimes, death comes unexpected and changes the course of one’s life.
Remember the adopted baby girl? That baby started out in the world alone for the most part.
Switching perspectives since we all know it’s me. I started out alone once the relinquishment took place. It reads in my baby book that my adoptive parents saw a scab formed on my newborn nose because I rubbed it raw in the isolette. I like to think I was searching for human contact and hurt myself in the process. I come back to that early non-formed memory often. It’s so surreal because that is me in a nutshell.
Those adoptive parents carried me home and loved me because their hearts were so full at the chance at being parents again. They gave me a home, a new life, love, attention and a big brother. What more could I ask for?
But they passed away. My adopted parents were both gone by the time I was five so at an early age, death was a part of life. I understood it far better than any five-year-old should.
Reason number two: I write because I have seen death close up. (many times)