I don’t remember Death often. I know that I should, but… I just don’t. I didn’t even see Death the day it took my gran. It wasn’t about Death, for me it was merely the fact that she’s gone. It didn’t occur to me that she was taken by something. Death.
When I do think of Death, it is always about someone else’s. There were times when I spent sleepless nights worrying that Death would take my family. But my own Death? Well, yeah, I have thought about that, but not that much. So stupid, so arrogant that I think that Death would never come for me.
I’ve heard of three Deaths last week. The wife of a fellow student died from a dengue fever. The girlfriend of a friend met Death with a stomach flu. And my friend from high school greeted Death in a childbirth. Three times Death came to my circle, in one week. And all of them Death took were young, happy, active people like me. I know Death is always there. Watching over me, waiting for the right time to take me. I’ve known that for a long time. But, Death never feels this close before.