Frailty of life.

Yesterday I worked a wreck scene. One survived, one did not.

That was my first fatality. (Well, the second, if you count a suspicious house fire, but that's a different story entirely.) The other part, I eventually learned that the young man who didn't make it is connected to my Advocate family.

The people were cleared from the scene before I was allowed in, so it isn't like I saw anything other than a few details that I will not disclose, for fear it would reach loved ones of the deceased.

The concept of death doesn't bother me. I'm quite satisfied in my location beyond death. As for loss, I've lost people close to me, important to me. That's not what this is about.

As I was struggling to get concrete information about that wreck and fielding rumors from folks who thought I was connected enough to know...somewhere in the midst of all that, I got a message from a dear friend. One who recently found out she was pregnant.

It was a photo of her sonogram. Yesterday was that special first visit to the gynecologist.

Here I stood looking at the photo on my phone of a new life, just as I was dealing with the details surrounding a young man's death.

And it struck me. Life is crazy. Life is so frail and short. At the same time, it's beautiful and magnificent. It's fragile, yet resilient.

It's the greatest oxymoron there is, it seems.

Reminds me of a quote from the end of a movie. *Chick flick alert!*
This is my one and only life and it's a great and terrible and short and endless thing and none of us come out of it alive. --P.S. I Love You
My advice to you? Take note of the frailty, for it makes the resilience that much more remarkable. 

And know where you're going when you're gone. 


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