Recently I’ve found myself with the urge to take better care of myself. Eating healthier, exercising more, going to bed earlier, sticking to my meditation practice. I’m not worrying about catching the swine flu, this isn’t a totally neurotic thing. But this week is both my mom and my sister’s birthdays. My sister is turning 17 today. I think of that number and say it to myself emphatically: SEVENteen. Oh Gosh. What the hell is going on here? How? What? When did this happen? My mom would not want me to reveal on the internet how old she is turning, and I’ll respect this because I respect her…also because she’d probably shun me for a month.

I’ve always loved birthdays, and I still do, but this year I think that these birthdays have fueled my self preservation instincts. I’ve become hyper aware of my own mortality, and I really don’t want to deal with it. Ironically enough, the way in which I’ve chosen not to deal with thinking about death is by taking really good care of myself, so go figure.

I feel myself cringe, writing about death, because it brings out the superstitious part of me that’s afraid to tempt the fates or jinx something. I try to remind myself, silly Emily, the universe is not looking to find ways to make you miserable or take away the people that you love. In fact, the universe doesn’t actually even revolve around you, so don’t worry about writing about these fears. If there is a God, and even if He is a vengeful, wrathful God the way the Old Testament makes Him sound, He has WAY more important things to take care of right now than to smite you. The only reason He even smote individual people back then was because there were less people on the earth for Him to pay attention to. The odds that He would even notice you, my dear, are slim. So take a chill pill and get back to the task at hand.

This year I’m acutely aware that my parents are getting old. I’ll try saying it again. My parents. Are getting old. They are getting old, which means they are closer to death. Neither one of them is THAT old, nor are they currently battling any diseases or major health issues, although it feels like way less than 7 years ago that my mom fought breast cancer. Thinking about my parents getting old and dying, my breath catches in my chest, oh God, what would I do without them? Stop it. Stop thinking about it right now! I’m not at the stage in my study of Buddhism where the thought of losing people doesn’t upset me, though I wonder often if such a stage actually exists, as well as whether or not I wish to attain such a state of mind. I’m attached to attachment. I suppose I just like it.

The other thing that comes up for me has to do with my sister’s 17th birthday. Seven years ago, she had cancer, too. The same year as my mom. But hers doesn’t feel like only yesterday. Her cancer feels like it was a very long time ago. When she was just a little girl, just becoming a tween. She’s gotten so much older in just a few short years. She’s developed her own style, a fabulous persona, a tight-knit group of smart friends. She’s fierce.

Just five years ago, I was 17. What was I doing when I was 17? Starting to dream about college, drooling over stupid boys (I haven’t outgrown that), going to after school clubs, studying for the SATs, singing in the high school musical, being nagged by my mom to clean my room, worrying oh-my-God-what-the-heck-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life (haven’t outgrown that either), not worrying about money.

That part of me feels rather far away now. And it isn’t that I miss it, but that I’m different. And that I’m different in this way means that I’m getting older, too. Like my parents, I am also getting closer to death. This was always the case. But I’m an older sibling, and I guess the curse of being an older sibling is that you get to watch someone who was always younger than you become older and see them pass the milestones you’ve seen. And it isn’t just a…wow, I can’t believe how much she’s grown but, wow…I can’t believe how much time has passed so quickly.