I've been walking around in my own personal fog for the past few weeks.  Going through the motions, you might say.  I'm busy enough in my daily life that I can do this for awhile without having to sit down and navigate my way through the mental haze back to clarity. 

But the time has come and as I wade through my emotions, I realize that two weeks ago I was a victim of an emotional ambush.   

Two weeks ago today, Tim Russert passed away.  I didn't know Tim Russert personally, but admired him as a reporter, and more importantly, as a human being.  And while the news of his passing shocked and saddened me, its not his actual death that has impacted me so greatly.  It's how he died. 

Tim Russert was under the care of an excellent cardiologist.  Just like me.

He was on various medications to reduce cholestorol and blood pressure.   Just like me.

He was using diet and exercise to improve his health.  Just like me.

He performed well on his last stress test.  Just like me.

He died of sudden cardiac arrest. 

I can almost see my fears for my own future lying in wait behind the busyness of my everyday life.  One day, something happens that sounds a collective alarm among all of these enemy combatants and they spring into action, bombarding me with vivid memories of my narrow escape from death and morbid imaginings of what might have been, what someday still might be.  An emotional ambush. 

If it happened to him, it could happen to me.  In fact, it almost did.   And try as I might to prevent it from happening again, I can't control what happens deep in the recesses of my coronary arteries.  If I let it, this truth could drive me mad.  Listening to my own heartbeat.  Waiting for it to cease.

I know too well that this is one battle I am not equipped to fight.  I pray to the God who saved me once to give me one more tomorrow.  I can only hold onto His goodness and not let go.