I reflected on that gun being pointed at me. I knew I would not have handled that the same if I did not know I was going to die. I surely would have been scared to death. Growing up in Southeast D.C. exposed me to a lot of stuff. But I never had a gun pointed at me. The way I dealt with that cop made me want to seek therapy. He could have shot me right where I stood. Was I on some kind of a death wish? Was I in some twisted state of daring death? It made me pause because staring into the barrel of a gun directed at your face and feeling no fear was not normal. “Kathy, let me ask you something. Did you think I wanted that guy to shoot me this morning?” “What? Wanted him to shoot you?” “Yeah. I mean, I didn’t flinch or try to move from the gun. He pointed it at me and I just stood there.” “Why, because of your condition, you think you’re not afraid of death anymore?” “I don’t know because I really have been afraid of death. You’re seeing me now, months later. When I learned there was nothing they could do for me, I was a total wreck.
