Still Here? You’re Damn Lucky.
It’s all up to you, now. Seriously.
When you turn sixty, take a moment to look back on your life and marvel at how far you’ve come. Take a moment to remember all the friends you made along the way. It’s true what they say — no one gets out alive. If you’ve come this far relatively unscathed, you’re extremely lucky.
Looking back, I’m shocked at the many tragedies that have taken those I’ve loved. I have never been a religious person and I have always believed that death is overwhelmingly random — but it is also meaningful and guilt-provoking, because I’m still here. And what, exactly, am I doing with my life?
I think often of the people who are no longer on the planet: Mary, the prettiest girl in my high school, murdered in the prime of life by her violent, sociopathic husband. Kelly, my childhood best friend’s daughter, killed by a drunk driver at the age of nineteen. Owen, my college best friend, killed in a terrible accident while still in his thirties. And Liz, my college roommate, gone too young from ovarian cancer, leaving behind two beautiful daughters who look just like her. And I’m still here.
As a nurse, I’ve lost patients I cared about, and I’ve grieved along with their families. A thirty-six-year-old woman with young kids shouldn’t die of colon cancer — nor should a college…
