Is My Life Just Another Bill

With the loss of my mother, I was forced to pack things up and move to Witchita Falls, Texas for the Summer. It’s going to be one of the more unpleasant summers that I can recall as I attempt to put my mother’s life into boxes, pack them up and..well, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with all of her things at the moment. Luckily, her local energy provider source has been kind enough to leave the lights on for the next three months as I settle things. It’s going to be incredibly rough. I have never been so emotionally challenged before.

It’s such a strange thing to think that everything that we own, the little bits and pieces that we decided were of some value to us through the years, can be packaged. With over half of the work finished I’ve only filled up a single storage unit. It doesn’t seem like enough, you know? Everything that this woman was has been reduced to boxes and memories, a condensed life of nearly 80 years. I can hardly wrap my mind about it and I’m struggling to suppress the unwanted fear of my own death – whenever that might be.

Nobody wants to die. Some of us are more prepared than others, this is true. I thought that I was one of those individuals who was more than capable of handling the idea of death. Clearly, this is not the case. I’ve been lying awake at night with my thoughts turning over one another as I contemplate what it must mean to be so wholly reduced. Is there something that I can do to ensure that my life will be of more value than just plain brown boxes sitting in the dark of some wet storage unit that, in the end, is just another bill?

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