The Valley of the Shadow of Death

Sunday's sermon at church was on the Twenty-third Psalm. Appropriate, since I seem to be surrounded by death.

First it was my dad's cousin. It was unexpected. She was much younger than my dad. But I'd only met the woman once or twice in my life, so I wasn't too emotionally invested.

Next was my uncle. He had been dying slowly for years. Parkinson's, I think. Tragic, but not unexpected.

Now it's my cousin. He was a narcotics agent and apparently his lungs are like Swiss cheese from years of breathing in meth fumes without a respirator. The doctors gave him 48 hours, but that was four days ago. We're not particularly close, but it is someone of my generation.

They say these things come in threes. But then again, aren't people supposed to die in winter instead of spring?