“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve told you before: I’m going to live for a very very very long time.”
That is not what he’s told me before. What he’s always said is that he’s never going to die. This is markedly different for him – to admit mortality – but I don’t say anything. We both know how lucky we are. We both know that if traffic had been going just a little bit faster he’d be dead instead of just sore. I have to keep saying it over and over to wrap my brain around the fact that he got rear-ended by a semi, which is a quite different thing than being rear-ended by a Saturn.
There’s nothing like a little bit of perspective to change everything.