Dear Fear,

I sit here, watching 2024 come to a close. I have a terminal diagnosis. 2026 and I will not know each other, but that is not my fear. Death is not my fear.

My fear is bigger, my fear is more existential. My fear is that my half century on this Earth mattered to no one. After I’m gone, people will remember me for a while, hopefully with a small wry smile or a large hearty laugh, and eventually thoughts and memories of me will fade and dim. My fear is that there is not a soul to whom I made a momentous difference, for whom I lit up their passions, or showed how to navigate terrible situations, or acted with love and inclusion.

When I become new dust on Earth, when others sell or donate my possessions, when my scent is gone from the air, and when nothing tangible remains of me, what will happen?

Can we overcome this fear in a finite and miniscule amount of time? Perhaps. I will pursue a legacy of love and laughter. I will smile at the stranger, I will give generously, I will laugh, I will befriend the outcasts of society, a club to which I strongly feel we all belong. I’ll stop putting off my writing goals for when I “have more time”. I have no more time. 

I don’t think my fear can be completely overcome. I will take it with me to my last days and beyond, but that does not mean that I cannot work towards owning and overcoming my fear. It means I must live louder and stronger than my fear. It means I do it and I do it afraid.

Afraid, but not defeated,

Melissa

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