Yesterday a friend of mine's brother died. His name was Seth Machak.
He had been admitted to a hospital days earlier after vomiting blood and was diagnosed with pneumonia. His lungs were bleeding and later filling up with fluid. His oxygen levels were low and he never left the ICU. The doctor's said the pneumonia was likely the result of a staph infection.
Whenever we find out that someone close to us has died, usually the first question we ask is "How did they die?" I think the reason is that we want to make sure that it won't happen to us. Especially as was the case with Seth, when the victim is young and healthy. Any untimely death is bad, but if we can find a cause like driving drunk, overdosing on drugs, or a smoker that developed lung cancer, we can at least say "I avoid that lifestyle. That won't happen to me."
But when it's a staph infection. . . .
When I was about ten-years old, I remember going through one of my dad's high school yearbooks. He found me, sat next to me, and began skimming through his classmates and pointing out the ones that are now dead. He wasn't being dark or callous or humorous, just very matter-of-fact. I remember thinking "How old will I be before I start doing that with my high school yearbook?"
I can think of four students, other than Seth, whom I knew well in high school that are dead now. One choked on his own vomit in his sleep while inebriated. Two killed themselves; one by rope and one by firearm. One died of a heart condition.
And now Seth dies from something that could have happened to anyone.
I used to look at people's lives as stories. They all end at some point, vary in length, some are humorous, and some are depressing. Now I'm starting to personify death, much like the grim reaper. The longer you live, the more people he is going to take and it doesn't matter to him how they go. He is going to come after people you love.
People die young. Even good people who seem to be doing all the right things in life. Death doesn't care. When you're time is up, it's up.
I've reached a point in my life where death is no longer something that happens to older people. My annual ratio of weddings to funerals still strongly favors the former, but the latter is no longer just a blip on the radar. It is real. And it's going to keep growing each year and eventually tilt the scales.
Even though I did not know Seth well, his passing made me realize how close we all may be to the end of our stories. And just how precious and valuable the gift of life is.
