There, I said it.

My mother has siblings stretched across two continents, and I have cousins stretched across this same wide world.
Since my mother is the youngest of five and 15 years younger than her oldest brother, I have cousins who are decades older than I. And a couple who are younger, as well.
And this week Mom asked me to email a cousin in Western Germany to find out about his father, who is somewhere in Eastern Germany in a hospital and whose wife, my aunt and mom's sister, cannot be reached by telephone.
This won't make sense to you, but my mom was scared to call her nephew to ask about his father. She was scared that the news would be bad.
At this same time, my mother's second brother, who is a widower in his 80s, is also suffering from the same congestive heart failure, but his age addled brain doesn't grasp the most basic explanations of what's happening to him. And since he actually has no one, my mom is scared that he will not do as his doctors prescribe. And that she will lose another sibling.
This congestive heart failure thing happens to be my family's own private curse; or so it seems.
My mother's youngest brother died almost a decade ago after taking diuretics for four days, deciding he was cured and going back to work. He died in bed, in his early 60s, with his eyes wide open and a look on his frozen face that told us in no uncertain terms that his death had not been peaceful.
My mother was not pleased.
In effect, my uncle committed suicide by ignorant arrogance. And while this particular uncle was not my favorite (he lacked generosity and the ability to think of others first, which were cardinal sins in the subtext of my raising), I felt my mother was only appropriately sad. She did not suffer too long and she didn't let it change her life.
But the other day, on the phone, asking me to reach across the ocean via bits and bytes to ask after her family, my mother was scared.
I've seen her scared before. My Dad also had congestive heart failure. It was more than a decade ago and he had all the best care he could ask for and he had us. And her. And he's never been particularly stupid about health care (in fact, my father has a very healthy relationship with medicine and the health care industry), so today, he's sassy and silly and stubborn as ever. Mom was scared but she had ever right to be.
So why is this time different?
Because this time it hit me with all the insight of a conspiring universe that some day, sooner rather than later, my mom will be alone. I mean, not really, but her siblings are fading into old age and she is aware of it. And I am aware of it, too.
And I'm aware of something more...
Now I'm a sensitive sort, who sometimes carries a chip on my shoulder and acts defensive to shield myself from anticipated pain. You can even call me a bleeding heart, which I am, and which I balance with strengths I was also blessed with.
So I do not want my mother to hurt... or be scared. I would like to fix it, but I can't.
But my mom will never be truly alone because she has Kasten and Me. Something I have chosen not to have: Children.
And yes, for the first time in my life, I regret this decision.
I am alone.
And yes, I am very scared.