On top of everything else, the news about my brothers is redlining all my phobias about mortality. I already worry, literally every day, about dying young and leaving people like Peg and my mom to fend for themselves.

It puts this weird pressure on me of "okay, if my stepbrother is in mortal peril, I DEFINITELY am not allowed to die." And let's face it, I have never been a real fit person. My dad dying young-- younger than I am now-- from heart problems fucked me up pretty good. And now my stepbrother is fixing to leave us at about the same age Dad was, and it's just... a lot.

I shouldn't start mourning for Matt just yet. We haven't even gotten a formal diagnosis. Though I have something terrible to confess: I had already mourned for my stepdad before he pulled off his miracle and puled through for us all. And I'm glad I did. It made everything feel like a gift after he made it.

I don't know. Matt's from exactly the same stock. His dad and grandpa have both survived some real shit, and his grandma didn't go easy. Maybe he'll be okay. Maybe there'll be someone there for my mom when my stepdad's gone, after all. Maybe I won't have to drag Peg all the way to god-forsaken Ohio someday to watch me do Dutiful Italian Son things.

Maybe I'll be lucky if I make it that long. But fuck, I've been convinced I would be dead within a year since I was... hmmm... around 12? I swore when I turned 40 I would give myself the present of just not sweating this stuff anymore, but... every time my heart skips a beat or I don't pee right or my back seizes or whatever, I remember that shit HAS to start going wrong eventually.

And sometimes it just all breaks, right out of the blue, and if you're lucky you get enough time to say goodbye. And I'm just now realizing I haven't ever really lost anyone my own age, and I just want to punch a god in the nuts right now because this can't possibly be how being a human being works.