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For some reason and I don’t know why, when I found out Cory Monteith had died, I cried. I didn’t really watch Glee, I hadn’t really seen him in any other programmes and I couldn’t have even told you his characters surname in the show or what the high school was called. All I knew was he was in his early thirties. What kind of age is that? You’ve had maybe a handful of milestone birthdays, maybe an amazing trip to the Bahamas or Cuba (okay, maybe if you’re worth a few million dollars you’ve probably had a couple). Have you met the person you want to marry? Have you married them? Have you had children? Do you want children? Have you tried? Your mum probably still thinks you’re a baby, or her baby at least. Have you gotten so drunk you’ve lay down and you still feel like you’re moving? Have you woken up fully clothed in bed with a banging head? Have you read the book you always wanted to – or is it still on the shelf? Do you know what it feels like to be in love? Have you walked with no sense of where you’re headed and come across the tiniest café that serves the best hot chocolate? Have you ridden down a hill on a bike and not pressed your brakes just once to feel like you’re flying? Have you met somebody special, and had to say goodbye? Have you made plans for tomorrow, and yet tomorrow is just not certain?
When my dad was 31, I was just a year old. He had been married two years and he had worked for thirteen.
Maybe that’s why I felt so upset, because he hadn’t had long, because maybe he still had so much he thought he would get to do. Because when he last tweeted about something so random, he thought he still had so many more to write.
All I know, is I felt at that moment like I knew how much I take life for granted. And I don’t know why all these thoughts have come to me on a sunny holiday abroad, but they have.
Food for thought.
E x