I’m Terrified of My Mum Dying

How I cope with the unthinkable.

My mom’s death has been the greatest fear of my life. As a kid, it was easy to dismiss parents dying as something that happens to older people. Now, I’m one of those older people, and the threat grows larger by the day.

I’ve already lost my dad.

On November 15th, 2019, my mom called to tell me my dad had died. I was dumbstruck and could barely speak except to say I’d be straight over.

My dad had heart disease and had endured several hospital visits. I thought this had prepared me for his death, but you can never prepare for grief.

As my girlfriend and I pulled up outside my mum’s house, I saw two ambulances and a paramedic response car. The whole street was lit up with flashing blue lights. It was hauntingly beautiful and reminded me of many incidents I attended as a police officer.

My dad lay in the lounge — a usually warm and safe place, but now a room of death. A curtain blocked the view because my mom knew I’d seen enough horror and had PTSD.

I couldn’t resist the urge to look. I needed to confirm that my dad, whom I’d seen the day before, was dead. That one of my anchors in a vast and uncaring universe was gone.

My dad was lying flat on his back on the floor. Right next to the table where we used to play chess every day. The chessboard was still out and ready for our next game.

The paramedics had stopped CPR. He’d been dead long enough that if they revived him through some miracle, he would have a brain injury.

He looked peaceful, unlike most of the bodies I’ve ever seen. My dad was a writer, albeit one who was too afraid to get anything published. Ever since he became ill, he’d stopped writing. Yet, for some reason, on his final day, he died at his computer, trying to finish his final book. It seems like he knew he didn’t have much time. He still had his hand on the mouse when he took his last breath.

I wished I hadn’t seen him. For a long time, all happy memories of him were tainted by this image. I added him to all the deaths that play on my mind at 3 a.m. when everyone else is asleep.

The paramedics did their thing, and the police attended to ensure we hadn’t murdered him. Funeral directors came and put him in a body bag. That bag brushing against the wall as they carried him out was the final sound related to him that I’d ever hear.

And that was it. Thirty-nine years of having a dad with me almost every day, gone with the gentle whoosh of his body bag.

The loss of my dad and the ensuing pain has increased the fear of losing my mum tenfold. When she dies, massive parts of my history will die with her. Parents know everything about us. The parent-child bond can be one of the strongest you’ll have in a lifetime. This bond can never be replaced. On top of that, parents dying is a reality check for our own mortality. We have to confront our aging.

We aren’t a close family.

Our wider family isn’t worth the name. My mum has two sisters and a brother. We never see any of them. Her brother and his wife fell out with my mum and dad about 20 years ago. He occasionally phones to make small talk, but the damage can’t be repaired. One of my mum’s sisters cut all ties with the rest of her family, and the other is so cold she could give stone a run for its money.

On my dad’s side is one surviving brother who phones every couple of weeks to check on my mum. It’s an awkward conversation because he doesn’t do anything.

None of these people have any contact with me, and I wouldn’t want them to. But having no family that cares increases the sting when a parent dies. There’s no one to share it with. I’m an only child, which adds to the isolation.

My mum was vital in my recovery from mental illness. I rely on her for emotional support alongside my girlfriend.

This is how I’m coping with the fear of my mum dying.

I do several things to make my mum’s mortality more bearable, and they may work for you, too.

1. I accept the fear of death is normal.

I realize I’m not alone in having this fear. Everyone has these insecurities at some point. I try not to be hard on myself and accept these fears as a natural part of the survival instinct.

2. I make lists of my concerns.

Anxiety and fear are only overwhelming when they spiral out of control. Therapists call it “catastrophizing.” I get dragged down by endless spirals of negativity and horror. One way to break this cycle is to write what I’m anxious about. When I see it on paper, I notice my life is less out of control than I think. What are the worst things that might happen if you lose a loved one? What are possible solutions?

3. Self-talk matters.

Focusing on my thoughts can help my fears become more manageable. Don’t be afraid to say these things out loud if it helps. I remind myself that death is natural. I tell myself it will be okay even if I don’t believe it. Affirmations have power.

4. I focus on living.

I try to focus on my mum living instead of dying. I meet up with her almost every day. This Saturday, we are having a takeaway. I do my best to treat her with love and kindness and tell her I love her.

5. I remember what I’ve already lost.

I’m more resilient than I sometimes think. Although my dad’s death was agonizing, I successfully got through it. I’m much better now than I thought possible a few years ago.

I’ve overcome mental illness and lost what I thought was my dream job as a police officer. I’ve beaten the depression that comes from loss of purpose.

I’ve conquered pain and suffering before and can do it again.

The secret weapon — the fear pyramid.

You can use the fear pyramid in any area of your life. It’s worked wonders for me in everything from boxing and martial arts to being a police officer.

Start by drawing a pyramid. Put a minor fear at the bottom — anything that produces mild anxiety but doesn’t affect you too badly. Work your way to the top of the pyramid, where you put your worst and most debilitating fears.

Now, expose yourself to each fear, starting at the bottom. Each time you conquer a level, you’ll build confidence and learn to handle discomfort. By the time you get to your worst fears, you’ll have a history of success behind you. What was once a terrible fear is now only a single step away.

The pyramid’s purpose is never to end fear but to channel its potential. Once you reach the top of the pyramid, you’ll find a new one waiting for you. As long as you live and grow, there will be a pyramid to climb.

I did a pyramid for dealing with violent confrontations due to bullying at school. At the lowest level was joining a non-contact Karate club. Then, I moved on to a tougher club. I then added boxing to my repertoire. The one missing thing was real experience. I needed an ethical way to get it without going out and fighting people.

Thus, I joined the police. I got to deal with street violence in all its forms, helped people, and completed my pyramid.

Conclusion.

There’s no easy way to conquer your fear of loved ones dying or any other fear. I can show you how I tackle it, but I can’t do the work for you. We all must travel into the void and battle with what we find.

When you do the battle, you’ll find that enlightenment exists, but it isn’t found by meditating in a cave. Instead, enlightenment lies behind your deepest fears.

Fear is blocking you, and you can’t go around it. You must go head-on and fight with everything you have.