Dec
6
2009
I could not understand why I did not want to go to church. Today I did. It has been going on for two months. Today it hit me. I did not know how to discuss the prognosis of my doctor.
For a long time I assumed I might live somewhere to the ripe old age of maybe eighty or ninety (that is how long my mother and father lived respectively) but now I am not sure I will make it to sixty-five. I am now sixty-one now (???).
I did not know how to openly discuss my fears on death. Or at least I was afraid to. I did fall into a depression. I realized my staying away was a way I had of indicating in a passive way there was something seriously wrong with me. I had been going regularly–every Sunday morning to my little church.
