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2005-07-05 - 9:32 a.m.

I heard the words she said but I kept thinking, "This is some kind of a sick joke." Only it wasn't. P had died sometime on Sunday.

I didn't really know P. I had only just met her down in South Beach in April but I thought she was one of the most beautiful people I had ever met, inside and out, as I had told EK. I was hoping to hang out with her and her husband this week after I got back from Pennsylvania.

P was staying with EK this week while in town for a family celebration. P and EK had been friends since college. On Saturday P started feeling sick and vomiting but urged her husband, EK, and the others to go out without her. She said she'd be fine. Nobody suspected that this was anything more than a stomach flu.

Later P called EK and said, "I think I need to go to the hospital." They rushed home and took her there. They waited for what seemed an eternity. Then the doctors said they had to intubate P to help her breathe. They told EK to get her family there. Sometime after her husband got there and before her parents arrived, P died.

P was 31 years old and today would have been her birthday. The doctors were still not sure what happened. The family and EK have taken her home to Florida to prepare for the funeral.

I couldn't sleep last night for thinking about how terrifyingly fragile life is,
about how one can be laughing one day and then gone in the blink of an eye,
about how much time and energy we waste on the ridiculous inanities and petty occurrences in life,
about every ache and pain I've ignored lately and whether I should be paying more attention to my health,
about P,
about her family and friends, and what they must be going through right now.

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