Worry Causes Illness

This worries me.
     I am a slow learner, I guess. After a  misspent youth full of cigarettes, late nights and fuzzy mornings,  I started to take my health seriously and at the ripe age of 46 I am in better health than ever, (though not better shape).  While far from   fanatic, I exercise, eat my veggies, take my vitamins, get enough sleep and take it easy on the fast food and wine (most of the time).
    My downfall is stress. I even stress about what stress can do to my health.
    I truly hate being sick. I am  borderline obsessive about getting a flu shot at the first possible opportunity, I pop echinacea and garlic and herbs and vitamin C at the first sign of a cold and keep to  a vigilant vitamin regimen to prevent everything from PMS to anemia. But until recently, while I don't take my health for granted, I didn't worry too much about getting really sick.
    That's changed.  I lie in bed worrying about getting sick. I worry about what would happen if I would get really sick. What if I died? I picture what my son's life would be like. Control freak I am, it drives me crazy to think that not only would I not be able to watch him grow,  but I wouldn't be the one in charge of running interference with teacher, making him wear a sweater and eat his vegetables.
     I know he would end up living with his dad and that scares me. His father loves him to distraction, but here's a question for the ages: Is love truly enough?  On good days his father struggles with the demands of adulthood. He may (sometimes) get our son to brush his teeth and do his homework, but he is more of a playmate. On bad days, he can't take care of himself let alone a child.
    Now I know worry is a useless exercise. And  I understand enough about cognitive therapy to know that dark thoughts feed on themselves and have to be fought and replaced with positive, more realistic ones. Like,  I am healthy right now. I could remind myself that I recently had a check up and my numbers and tests came out A-Ok. I could also point out to myself  that statistically  it is less likely that I will pre-decease my chain smoking, perpetually malnourished ex-husband on his alcoholic merry-go-round of recovery and relapse.
    Still worry sits on my shoulder and whispers thoughts that convince me every freckle is a melanoma and every heart ache the beginning of angina.  Vigilance is required to not allow that train of thought to run away with my serenity.
   We all have to be reminded to be gentle on ourselves. I realize that a lot of this worry comes with being responsible for someone else.   Because when it comes down to it, I'm the Mother. The buck stops here. I'm "it".  Is that an awesome, mind-blowing, overwhelming realization? Yes. Yes it is.