First of all, my husband is alright. It turned out to be some kind of gastric infection, not the big C, or the little one (ulcer). He has to drink tea, not coke and eat soup, not chips and he will live to be a hundred. I feel very relieved.
As I wrote the reply to John's comment to Part I earlier, I thought a bit more about the whole concept of being worried and what it all boils down to, with me, not being worried about my husband dying within short time anymore.
My worries are pretty much like the little red warning light flashing in my car. I don't always know what it means. It sometimes lights up when I drive faster than the tiny car thingy can handle, but I couldn't put my finger on the exact moment it will appear.
It oftentimes feels like a seemingly mundane worry is a serious one in disguise. I was seriously worried about poor hubby, so let's not take that as an example. The flashing light in my car, that's a different story. Brave little Peugeot might never break down, even with the red light being there, flashing from time to time. Then again, it might break down without some kind of prior announcement.
After all, it's a warning light, not an omen.
That should be the lesson. I might not be warned before something horrible happens. But still, the light keeps on flashing in my mind. In case my car breaks down tomorrow, I will have to deal with that horrible guilt. Because then I'll tell myself that I knew that something was up and I told me so, several times! It's the guilt I know I'll be feeling for not doing it regardless. And that is the most dreadful thing there is. Guilt. I try to avoid it as much as I can.
In the end it doesn't really matter if the car breaks down or not. It might even be some kind of rewarding experience if it did, and not the nightmare I imagine it to be. So I will have to force myself to ignore the light. That's my new motto. Ignore the light. There will be other ones that cannot be ignored, but until then, I'll live a little. And enjoy velocity.