I'm driving across the bridge, and in the horizon I can see the wave coming towards me

There was an article yesterday on the internet about how after a certain age, women are
pretty much metaphorically shooting blanks. This should inspire anxiety, but only provides
relief.

I know that if I don't drive faster, the wave will sweep me off of the bridge and I will die

They have finalized a date to demolish Grandpa's house. This should inspire relief, as it is final.
Instead it makes me anxious. I want one more chance to reconstruct it as it was. But that is impossible. She is not coming back. Neither is he. I will never be 5 again. The world is no longer what it was. This is inevitable.

I see the advancing water, and know with certainty that I will lose this race- it's too fast

I hear weariness in my Mother's voice as she relates the events in my Grandmother's life. It's one litany of decline after another. Almost a ritualized "Hail Mary" of despair. One day soon she won't recognize any of us. Then it will be over, with the body following after. This should inspire grief, but right now I don't have time for that. I'll keep telling myself that, because I just don't want to go there. I see no reason to bludgeon myself unnecessarily.

I don't know what to expect when the water comes, and the adrenaline that got me this far wears off- only that it will be over. At last.