I love to believe I have some amount of control in my life, actually, a great deal of control. But lately, I have watched a friend slowly pass away because we don’t have control over our bodies when they start to deteriorate. Her sons, husband and family had no control in getting to keep her here.  Not having control scares us, scares me.  Something is in my brain, a mass, a chunk that they saw on a cat scan.  If I can get over my damn claustrophobia, maybe they will get a more specific look at it.  But as I sit here tonight, battling with my fear, I am again reminded that I ultimately am not in control.  I would love to say it has made me more dependent on God.  Not yet.  In this moment I am in shock at the revelation of the image of this matter that doesn’t belong.  I am marveling at how easy it was to “control” my blood pressure with a pill, but that there is nothing I can do, in and of myself, to control this blob, this possible cyst/tumor/cancer/who knows what sitting in the middle of my brain. Life is short, it’s fragile and it’s fantastic.  I don’t want to lose it yet.  I am scared.  I don’t have control.  I never actually have.  So, I sit here in my sleepless state reflecting on how much I love living, how much I love loving.  I feel alone.  I know I am not.  I feel alone though.