Why Don’t The Assholes Die?

This Saturday my husband and I will attend a memorial service for a man we worked with earlier in our careers.  He was forty seven.

In the last five years five young men we worked with at that same company have passed away.  Some from disease, others from sudden fatal accidents.  With the exception of one, all men had children. Some as young as two or three years old.  They left behind spouses, parents and colleagues who cared for them deeply.

Without exception all five men were great guys.  Kind, hard working, decent men.

Why don’t the assholes die?

Have you ever noticed what happens when a young person passes away traumatically.  If the media is involved they interview their friends and family.  The reaction is typically predictable?  “They were always smiling and happy.  Everyone liked them.”  Have you ever heard anybody say “Ya, he was a total jerk.  Mean to everybody he encountered.”

Happy pictures are shown.  Happier times are remembered.  Making it all the more devastating.

Why don’t the assholes die?

Now when I say as assholes I don’t mean the guy who cut you off getting onto the highway this morning.  Or the woman who didn’t pick up her dogs business at the park yesterday.  Not even the boss who fired you just because he thought that he could get some young hot shot to fill the position you’ve given your heart and soul to for five years.

I’m talking about those people in your life that give you consistent aggravation.  Ones that go out of their way to make your life more difficult simply because they can.

Why don’t those assholes die?

The five men that have died in the past five years were not that person.  They were funny redheaded goofballs.  They were gentle hockey loving fathers.  They were guys who always “knew a guy” who could help you out.  They were wizards with Christmas lights and skateboard ramps.  They were work colleagues who boosted you up instead of climbing over you.

They weren’t assholes.  And yet they died.

 

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