Hard day.

So I'm having a hard day and really just wanted to write it out. My uncle died yesterday. We had been expecting it any day now but it really hit me today for some reason. Even yesterday, with the party and everything, I was still distracted enough not to think. But today at work was tough. My uncle had been diagnosed with colon cancer about a year ago. The doctors gave him 9 months to a year. He managed the year. Which is wonderful and surprising considering what shape he was in. 

And his death has got me thinking about my life. My uncle was a wonderfully sweet man but he was a man who never took any chances in life. He worked nights his whole life, and then came home to the house he shared with his mother and aunt and either slept or read. As far as I know he never dated a girl much less married. He lead a very solitary life. He traveled but never really across the oceans. And then in his retirement he simply shut himself in his house and did nothing. He grew weak, barely able to get around without a walker. And that was at 64. And now he is gone, at 67, without really ever having done much living. And that for me is the saddest thing. 

It reminds me that we are only weak in body because we allow ourselves to be. This has been a catalyst toward getting me to work out. Not to lose weight, even though I would like to, but to be stronger. I want to be strong enough to still be active into my seventies. I don't fear getting old. I fear getting elderly, whether that is at 40 or 80. 

This has also got me thinking about friends. I've always been shy. Painfully sometimes. And I have not always been the best about maintaining friendships. And that needs to change. I want to take more chances socially. To meet new people, to acknowledge people as friends more. I want to allow myself to take risks with my feelings. And not be afraid to be hurt. I watched my uncle hide away in his home and I don't want that to be me. Although a man who loved to talk, he took the easy way out and stayed in. I don't want that. 

This death has been the third for Jeff and I since December. This will be my second funeral in the past six months. And this one will perhaps hit me the hardest. When my great-aunt died she was 97. And fiery until the end. At 95 she was still trying to clean out her own gutters. I want that fire. 

Do not go gently into the night... Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Dylan Thomas

And not when I come to die, discover that I had not lived. Thoreau