Because sometimes, something like not-divine-intervention happens, and the world agrees that you need a boost. Because with life comes death, but you never expect it thirty minutes after leaving a hospital room.
Because "the good die young" was just remembered. And you know what? Thirty-eight human years is pretty fucking young for lung cancer, too.
Because my husband was able to look at me and smile and say, "No, I still see her walking around." Because grief is better shared.