The Count
I'm obsessed with numbers. I freely admit it.
It obviously shows when I'm posting the count of Willie's current wardrobe.
A good line to put here, would be to point out a time when it is not so apparent I am obsessed with numbers. Can anyone think of such a time?

The new counter on my blog shows an ever growing void.

Most people are obsessed with numbers whether they know it or not.
Whether your counting up: "I'm four and a half!" - or counting down: "316 until Christmas"; or even remembering a significant date in history, the numbers are always in play in the backs of most people minds.
There is always the life count down. And there are clocks that will aid the ever-so-obsessed with the end count.
At work today we got on the topic of life and death.
Living life to a grand old age, or being cut short by a freak and tragic accident, (I know it is amazing I'm still here) or suffering a slow and lingering illness.
There is always the old joke of being 97 years old and being shot by a jealous lover.
Everyone knows "the kid", who was ever so popular, loved to have fun, play hard, and died young. Most of us knew more than one.
I have wondered maybe life isn't given to us in a measuring of years, but of experiences.
Maybe we are all destined to accomplish a certain number of life experiences. Might be something to be said for slowing down and smelling the roses.
What if there were some truth to when you have "done it all" - you're done?
That could put an end to the rat race.

One young coworker surmised she fully expected to die of cancer someday. She is young and healthy now, but figures genetics will catch up with her someday.
On the other hand, medical science could fully eliminate that risk for her by that time.
I was asked what I thought would be the cause of my ultimate demise.

I have known the answer to that question for years.
Medical malpractice.
Be it the doctor, the hospital, or even the insurance company
- somebody won't do the right thing at the right time.

I have to wonder - is that what I am to experience, or the person who makes such a decision, their life experience in living with a death they caused? Are we all knit so closely together that we combine our experiences to become the whole?

What about the person who purposefully causes harm, or ends the life of another? Is the victim destined to be a victim? Perhaps, their life is meant to be a teaching example to others.

Perhaps, the stillborn babe was to only experience a mother's love.

Perhaps, the Adams, Ambers, and Jetsetas were destined to teach parents to hold on to their children just a little bit tighter.
It seems, according to the numbers, the world increasingly becomes a more dangerous place for our children. I think every generation has had to deal with the morbidity of their children. Diphtheria, whooping cough, influenza, polio, all took their toll by the hundreds of thousands.
Maybe, someday, we will have something to wipe out child abusers.
They say history will always repeat itself. Maybe the vigilantes will make a come back and the predators against children will be forced into dormancy, just as most horrible diseases have been, by vaccines.

Rand's dad was cut down by cancer "in his prime". Bill was just about ready to leave the rat race and start smelling the roses. Did he miss it or did he live it?

Who doesn't want to be the one, live the long full life and then die peacefully in their sleep.
Age is only a measurement of days, not of life.
When my grandfather was killed at age 90, he was vibrant, full of life, and a newlywed. It felt too soon. He had much living to do. Most who knew him felt "It wasn't his time yet".
In the past few months, his brother and his favorite cousin have passed. It was the very end of their generation. Even though they were no older, their days seemed done. Though we will miss them, "It was time".
They were ready.

My mom's favorite excuse for not flying:
"What if it's the pilot's time?"