I am not dying. I am perfectly healthy. This post is about dying alone.
You know how most women (including me at one point in my life) feared “dying alone”. The obsession may women have with having a partner is driven by this fear of pissing on themselves in a nursing home with no one they know and love coming to clean them up. I know it sounds crass, but this is what this fear boils down to. I had a revelation this past weekend that if I die single, I will die victorious. If I die single, that means that I stood my ground on what I wanted and I did not compromise because I was “getting old” and I “needed a man”. I am at the point in my life that either you have the currency to pay my price, or you leave me on the shelf. If I cannot get what I desire, I leave the entire deal on the table. Dying single will indicate that I stood strong in who I became and lived a beautiful life; I achieved what 90 percent of women will never achieve: happiness regardless of partnership.
If I decide to be buried, I want “She Died Victorious” on my tombstone or if I am cremated, I want that on my urn.