Something happened. One of those things that you know could happen, but you always tell yourself will never happen because–what are the chances?
My dad got hit by a car while he was riding his bike on Friday morning. The chances were decidedly low. Perhaps the chances are also low that he live through such an accident without permanent disabilities–but he did.
I should know by now not to believe in chances. The chances of me getting cancer at 25 are almost as low as the chances of me getting pancreatic neuroendocrine cancer ever. Still, I got both. The chances of my dad getting hit by a car while riding his bike are probably not as low, but they’re still low.
In both cases, we do everything we can to make the chances seem lower. I eat healthy, and exercise, and don’t smoke. My dad wears his helmet and a rear-view mirror and rides on off-street paths when he can. He’s been riding for almost 10 years.
Yet–chances don’t matter. Illusions of safety don’t matter. Previous experiences with rare, bad things happening in your family don’t matter. I’m trying not to get too philosophical here, but yet again, i’m being force-fed the lesson that bad things happen in life rather indiscriminately.