Freak accidents have massacred my lineage. My family dies suddenly. Brutally. Swarming with shock.
A fishing boat my grandparents chartered capsized off the coast of Florida. No survivors.
My uncle was the unfortunate passenger of a drunk cabbie. Driver survived.
Another uncle tripped on his boat, hit his head, and fell into the water. Inebriation lead to drowning.
And then there is my sister – the sole casualty of a 9 car pile up.
When my father was diagnosed with cancer a few years ago he joked he would be the first of our family to die naturally. It wasn’t his best joke. His failed attempt to hide a fear of death in humor wasn’t lost in any laughter. I was sad for him. And for me too.
He beat cancer. And I beat my fear of the inevitable. Sunday was the 8th anniversary of Megs death and the first time I was able to celebrate her life rather than sulk over our loss. This weekend I went to her memorial and popped a bottle of champaign in her honor. I felt serene. If I am to go tomorrow, my wish would be to have lived and loved today. When I am chosen to be taken away, I feel at peace that it is where I belong to be. Because it’s not up to you and me.