Okay. I admit it. I am TERRIFIED of dying. Woody Allen terrified. I wasn't always like this. In my teens and twenties I think I even slightly romanticized it. It all started a few years ago while I was in art school. I would be driving across the Bay Bridge (where most crises of faith take place) and when I stopped at the metering light I would get this panicky feeling with the sudden realization that at some point I would indeed perish.It isn't the thought of not being in this world that has me so anxious. It is the unknown that cripples me. Not knowing what comes next is a sore spot for control freaks like me. It is the only time I am even slightly envious of people who are faithfully religious. It must be nice to be so convinced about what will happen to you when the grim reaper comes a callin'. I've always thought that when you die, that's it. Final curtain. But who knows. No one has been able to report back from the 'other side'. My fear became acute as soon as Ben was born. Then the real panic set in. How could I ever leave this little angel? Even at the age of 40 we still need our momies. I just hope he isn't still living with me.