A childhood belief about people

I remember I started wondering how old my mom was when I was about 6. I asked her a few times, but she never would tell me, and would always end up to changing the subject. Then one day she answered and said she was 32. I was dumbfounded and disheartened. In that instant I believed my mother was very old, and did not have much longer to live. I spent the next sleepless week following my mom around, staring at her while she slept in bed to make sure she was still breathing, panicking when I heard her coughing from a cold that she had, and pounding on the bathroom door when I thought she was too quite in there. Honestly, it took me a good week to get over that one.