Let’s be honest: death is a lousy comedian. It loves punchlines like "he was only 47" or "he just had a checkup." My husband died from a rare heart condition that affects roughly 0.001% of the population. Statistically, he had a better chance of winning the lottery twice and being struck by lightning while holding the tickets. Spoiler: he did not win the lottery.
Fun fact: You are more likely to die from falling out of bed (1 in 2,000) than from the thing that killed Dave. I keep this tidbit in my back pocket for parties. It’s a real icebreaker—or ice-shatterer. The point is, the randomness is infuriating, but it’s also weirdly freeing. It’s not personal. The universe doesn’t hate you; it’s just clumsy.
