There’s a difference between the thought of mortality and the thought of life being fleeting. At least in my mind space, there is. Mortality is darker.

Most days, I don’t think about mortality. But it snuck into my mind last night–like a dark, eerie fog–while we were watching Bob Ross paint his happy trees on screen. We invite him into our room almost every night, lights dimmed, watching him do his magic as he lulls us to sleep with his sweeping strokes, soothing voice.

J handed me my melatonin pills, which I chased down with warm water, and I tucked myself into bed. Bob was painting a mountain scene tonight, a darker color palate than his usual but his face was as smiley as ever. I just love the joy that radiates from his eyes.

I wondered what it would be like to hang out with him for a day. A hipster-ish coffee shop and a squirrel came together in my mind. And his calming smile.

“Bob is still alive, right?” I floated the question into the air, to no one in particular.

“I don’t think so…I think he passed away a while ago from cancer.”

My eyes moved from the screen to J, who was getting ready to climb into bed. I couldn’t tell if he was just guessing, or if the comment came from a place of knowledge. I sat up in bed.

“What? But he’s not even that old! How old was he?” My face felt a little warm.

“In his 50’s, I think?”

I sunk back down under the covers. The room started fading to dark.

Will I live to see 50?

The thought took over my headspace and filled my veins before I even had a chance, a moment, to contain it. I closed my eyes. My mind instantly flickering images of my widowed husband, my motherless child.

No, no, nonono NO.  But–Bob’s so happy! Why didn’t his endorphins help keep cancer at bay? He of all people shouldn’t have died from cancer. What does this mean for me?

It’s a ridiculous thought, I know, that whole endorphins thing. But my mind kept rolling with the crazy and the nonsense and fear was now racing through my veins.

There’s this thing my therapist had taught me at our last session, where I picture my fears floating on leaves down a quiet river to watch them drift gently away from me, creating mental distance between my fears and my reality. He taught me this technique to use in situations like this, where I become paralyzed by the Big Dark Things my mind dreams up.

Lying in bed with my eyes still shut and now wet, I float my mortality leaf down the Eno River of my mind. I speak slowly into my mind space and my quivering heart.

“Death by cancer” is just a thought.

It is not my present reality.

Float away, fear.

I watch my fear–a blackish blob on a little green leaf–float down the river until out of view. I leave the riverbank and walk my mortal legs to the throne of my Savior, falling at His feet with no words, only tears.

Mortal legs, immortal spirit. Cling, cling to Him.

Float those fears to Jesus.