I’ve spent so many moments of my life thanking God it wasn’t me. I see someone spill their morning coffee all over themselves and I blush for them, thinking, “thank God it wasn’t me.” I listen to distant conversations in passing and hear someone talk about totaling their car from driving too fast, and I think, “thank God it wasn’t me.” Today, when my professor announced that she was selecting a random student to perform a skit in front of the entire lecture hall, I thought “thank God it wasn’t me,” when she selected a shy boy from the back row.
In my sleepless nights, I find myself strategically planning ways to make myself feel better about whatever is keeping me awake. I scroll through Pinterest for hours, gazing at inspirational quotes and lines from famous novels. Sometimes I think of people who have had worse things happen to them and I think, “thank God it wasn’t me,” in hopes that I can shake my own burdening feeling. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I had a new worry to keep me up at night, thanking God it wasn’t me.
After I saw it, I couldn’t breathe. The paramedics were walking out of the apartment across the street from mine and three girls were hysterically crying on the street curb. I couldn’t move, and most certainly couldn’t make myself continue to walk to class. At the time, I didn’t know who it was or what had happened. All I could think was “thank God it wasn’t me,” but this time, with a heavier heart.
Later in the day, I received an email from my professor informing us that the student that had passed was Kelly Markatos, a student actively involved in my IPR major program. I didn’t know her personally, but I knew her face and had had a few classes with her. For the entire day, every single one of my thoughts revolved around her.
That night, I tossed and turned in bed. I couldn’t sleep, because every time I closed my eyes, her face was there in my mind. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t shake the image of her, and I really wasn’t sure as to why I was so upset about it. I didn’t know Kelly well, and to be honest, I don’t think I had ever talked to her in my entire life.
I pulled up her Instagram and looked through every single one of her pictures from beginning to end. That’s when it hit me. Looking at Kelly’s pictures sent a wave through me; she wasn’t just a girl that went to my university and lived across the street from me. She was a friend; a daughter; a 22-year-old girl who, not even 24 hours earlier, was alive and probably dreading a quiz or procrastinating to avoid homework. She was preparing to graduate, looking for jobs, and thinking about new places to travel and live. Kelly was everything that I am; yet there I was thinking, “thank God it wasn’t me.”
I may have not known Kelly, and to her I was probably just another face of a girl in her class– but she changed my life. Here I am, alive and healthy, yet I still find things to worry about at night. I have spent so much of my life thanking God that it wasn’t me instead of thinking about this; what if it had been me? I got to wake up the day after Kelly’s death to take a quiz and procrastinate on my homework. I got to see my friends, call my parents and look at the picture of my dog on my desk. My life got to go on, when just a few hours away, somebody’s life was falling apart. Somebody had lost a daughter, a sister, a friend. Somebody’s life would never be the same.
Kelly taught me a lesson more valuable than any one book or lecture could teach. It’s such a silly concept to be constantly thankful for avoiding bad things, because it takes focus away from being thankful for having good things. Instead of thanking God it wasn’t me, why don’t I thank God that it was me? It was me who got to live another day, see another face that I love.
Instead of muddling through life trying to avoid bad things, I must recognize the power of all of the good things. I will never be able to control what happens– and that’s the beauty of life. Things go wrong, beginnings end and plans change. Life is perhaps the most beautiful thing in this world; even with science, religion and technology, nobody can quite figure it out. It’s something so precious that nothing and no one can measure it, define it or live it twice.
I lay in my bed that night after realizing what Kelly had taught me and I stayed awake until I could see the morning sun. It peaked through the trees and streamed through my blinds, spilling onto the ground as shadows from the leaves danced on my carpet. They crawled up the side of my bed and onto my face and I let the warmth rest there. I couldn’t help but think it was Kelly, letting me know she was there. I rolled over in my bed, closed my eyes and smiled slightly, letting myself get carried away with the beauty of a new day. It was then that I had made the decision– I was lucky to have the chance to exhaust myself in the glorious pursuit of life for one more day, and for the first time in a while, I found myself thinking, “thank God it is me.”