I have been thinking about how
Papa Morgan dropped dead after dinner when my mom was younger than I am now.
It was an aneurysm.
And I learned– very recently–
that once she had a student die during P.E. in the very same way.
Pre-existing conditions.
I see dead rabbits in the grass at home,
I see dead dead birds on the sidewalk here,
and I know the ancient Romans would use a haruspex
to read the entrails for messages from the gods.
My throat aches and itches,
and some days I’m too aware of my heart beat,
and this is why I’m a half-assed existentialist:
I am too terrified that dying at any moment,
no matter how young I am, how unlikely it is,
is a possibility.
At the same time,
I’m seeing my favorite movie for the first time,
watching my roommate’s face light up at the really good parts.
A professor of mine last semester said
genetics are a form of reincarnation,
all those before you living on in you,
in the fabric of your being,
and I almost wept in my seat.
Over the past year, it’s been clearer than ever
that for however much I love my brother,
he loves me just as strongly–
I saw it in the way he offered me his leftovers the day I moved into my apartment.
How can I waste time worrying about dying
when faced with moments like that?
Gracie Overstreet is an undergraduate student studying Writing Intensive English.
“Happiness Is” by Michael J. Maicher, Temple University, https://digital.library.temple.edu/digital/collection/p15037coll3/id/34692