But it was.
Someone hit him with a car as he was walking home. Someone literally careened into his body with their vehicle and left him die in the street and drove away. He didn't die in the street though, he died while being airlifted to the hospital. Police still do not have anyone in custody.
I didn't know this young man well. We had the same major, so we had several classes together. We worked together on a few projects. We delivered pleasantries. We likes statuses and posted happy birthdays. I realized earlier he liked my blog on Facebook. But we weren't close, however I couldn't help but cry when I realized he died.
It's not fair, I thought. It's not fair that he doesn't get more time. The problem with sudden death is all the openings it leaves behind. You don't get to say goodbye to your family. Or your friends. Or your dog. You don't get to take out the trash or tidy up your house. You don't get to answer that text message. You don't get to say you're sorry or I love you.
Life changes so quickly. It was Fourth of July and he was out having fun. He probably had plans for tomorrow. He could have been walking across that street thinking about what he was going to do when he got home, but then he never made it. Sometimes we can't even make it across the street. But isn't that how death happens, you plan on living--but then something changes. No one wakes up in the morning and thinks, "I'm going to get into a car accident and die today."
Still to this day, nearly a decade later, I'm troubled by the clarity of feeling like I was going to die. But for whatever reason, I'm still here. I'm not one to believe that my life didn't end that day because I had something important left to do, the words so many people offered as comfort, because how can I say that me being here makes more sense or is more important than that young man being here.
I think it's just a crapshoot, really.
But maybe I'm wrong. My insights on life are not doctrine. All I know for certain is that 25 is too fucking young to die. That someone shouldn't die when they're crossing a street. That we should get a chance to say goodbye to our parents or children or dogs. We should be able to clean our house and hide anything embarrassing. If there was any fairness in this world, that's how death would work. But as said many times before now, life is not always fair. It is messy and oftentimes far too short.
Matt told me while tears ran down my face that all we can do is say what we need to say. Tell people you love them. Tell people you're sorry. Do what makes you happy. And I know he's right, but it still doesn't cure the gnawing feeling in my stomach.
I am and will always be a right-fighter. I want what is fair, I want what is right, I want things to make sense, but I'm learning that, unfortunately, what is right is not always an option.
So instead, I'll say I love you. I'll say I'm sorry. I'll do what makes me happy. And I'll try to live like I was given a second chance, because for whatever reason some amazing people aren't given that same chance.
And the least thing we can do, is try and live enough for them as well.