Death has never scared me. And anyone who has driven in a car with me will tell you the same. I was brought up believing it was natural; how and when we go is, for the most part, out of our control; some people, who we never think deserve the second chance at life, are given a miracle while others, who touched so many people in so many ways, who were the epitome of greatness, are taken too soon. It’s one of life’s greatest tragedies and mysteries. You will swim your head into the bottom of a bottle of whiskey chasing such answers, letting your mind never move on from the whys and hows.

In one week, I lost a young relative I didn’t know as well as I should have and a professor who I attribute 85 percent of my writing skills to—he pushed his students to be vulnerable in their writing, to ask themselves the hard questions of why they make certain choices in their style, diction, format, tone, etc. He was always so quick to write a recommendation letter for me and it was his comment regarding me dropping out of the Written Communication M.A. program this fall—it happened with his first M.A. program of study, too—that lead me to be entirely okay with my decision.

I try not to ask myself why; why we lose some too early in life and why others spend a lifetime suffering. I have to believe there is an afterlife of peace—I refuse to believe that after Taylor has spent his life suffering, he will suffer after death as well. Life can’t be that cruel.

No, death has never scared me…until Evelynn came along. Then everything changed. Even my driving. I don’t tailgate as bad as I used to—though, that may also be because I’m no longer in a rusty truck (this WILL change next year; I need a truck, yesterday). I have this insurmountable fear that Evelynn could be taken from the only other people she really knows, her grandparents, losing her entire home in the event of my death. It gives me hives, the possibility. My jaw clenches, my throat tightens, my body becomes rigid. The very idea makes me nauseas.

She’s a girl of routine. She likes her morning breakfast in Taylor’s room watching television with him. She likes her movie before bed in my room. When she wakes up in the night, she scurries into grandma and papa’s room. She starts her days off with juice and then it’s water for the remainder of the day (she doesn’t like pop and carbonation, thank god). She has a strict gluten free diet that most people simply don’t understand. She’s bossy when it comes to Taylor’s needs—heart or oxygen monitor going off, his show is over and needs a new one.

Then let’s not forget every parent’s fear: growing up without an advocate. Everything I do is done with my daughter in mind, every decision. Who and when I date, my work ethic and career choice, the car I drive and my choice in purchase, the routes I take, my decision to stay at home despite the blow to my independence.

Then there’s more: will she remember me? Will she know my love for her is unbreakable and everlasting? That simply the sight of her fills me with such pride and light? They say there’s nothing greater than a mother’s love, I can believe it.

Yes, death itself has never scared me. It still doesn’t, for the most part. It’s the impact on Evelynn that I fear.