279/365 05/28/2026

There’s always the first to die. The first grandparent, the first parent. First friend or enemy. First acquaintance. If we’re lucky, the first to die is a throw-away. It’s harsh to say, and harsh to hear, I’d imagine, but it’s true. The first should be the one you’re not close to. Maybe it was always that way, or maybe it became that way because of a long, protracted illness. The first friend? Someone with whom you’ve lost contact, maybe. Just drifted apart over the years, and when the news hits, it’s more a reminder of your own mortality than a chest-crushing loss.