Recently, I went to the ER because I didn't feel "right". Nothing more, nothing less. No extreme pain. No specific symptom. My expectation was that I had some infection or something and they would give me some medication. I ended up having an aneurysm and needed open heart surgery to replace my ascending aorta and my aortic valve. Reduced down, I accepted in a very brief amount of time (a couple of days) that I could very well die and that I had lived my life. Having a three month year old daughter, this was very hard to come to grips with. I have survived, I am recovering (physically); but there is a residue of this acceptance of my death continues to permeate my being in some ominous fashion. The only escape seems to be irrational grasps at normalcy: eating breakfast at a local diner, seeing friends, watching the NHL Stanley Cup games, playing a board game, posting on a blog. In the end, escape doesn't seem to be possible; nor wise. At some point life and death will both need to become part of my existence, I just don't know how it will be at this point.