A co-worker died over the weekend.
We weren’t particularly close, though he was a nice enough guy. As I get older, more and more people seem to die around me, many of them in my age group. And I find myself taking these deaths more and more personally, even those that are distant relatives or neighbors or friends of friends.
Every one seems a sign, a portent, a warning.
Every one seems a reminder to enjoy my own life.
In other words, every life lost is bent and twisted to be about me.
And ain’t that always the way?