There should be some rule or law somewhere that people my age aren’t allowed to die. Lately, it seems as though every time I log onto Facebook or turn on the news I hear of yet another soul snuffed out way too early on in life. Recently, three men I knew, one in his 20s, another in his 30s and the third in his 40s died with no warning whatsoever. Two were father and son. All three died within just a couple weeks of each other.

Both young men left behind children. Both were at the pinnacles of their lives. One was to be married in just a few weeks. The other watching his career skyrocket.

This is the time in our lives that we’re finally really figuring out who we are, where we belong and how to live well. It’s the prime of our lives, when we learn to listen to people who know more, teach the ones who don’t and absorb as much information as we can.

There’s nothing that can justify a life cut short, entirely too soon with no explanation. I used to think, back when I was young and naïve, that the way to go would be to go suddenly. Fast-forward a few years and too many funerals later and my tune has certainly changed.

I was recently asked what my wishes were if I were to die. Who would take care of my daughter, affairs, arrangements? The thought of leaving behind my loved ones without the chance to say goodbye is heart-wrenching. These are the people I would never entertain the thought of leaving by the wayside, so how could I imagine their lives after I’m gone?

Because the question was an unavoidable one, along with hearing about so many unnecessary deaths so close to one another I faced a pretty solid dose of my own mortality. As much as I don’t want to think about my life being over, my responsibility to my family to have my affairs in order is starting to sink in. I never thought I would get to the point in life when I would need a will, but I’m starting to think it’s time.

I distinctly remember my parents telling me they had such a thing, where it was located and the basics of what it said. Truth be told, I was mortified.

They were getting ready to take a trip to Bermuda. I think I was about 17 years old. I couldn’t fathom what on earth made them a) map out where their assets would go in case they died, because b) obviously they weren’t going to die, which led me the oh-so-rational reaction of a teenager, c) getting really, really angry at them for worrying me in the first place. I mean, what were they thinking? Wills, I concluded, were for old people, not parents.

However, after the past few weeks and having to answer the daunting question of who I would want to raise my daughter in my stead shook the cobwebs off that theory and systematically proved it idiotic.

Of course I want to be the one to watch my little girl grow into the woman she’ll become, and I want to be there every step of the way, cheering her on. I know, too, if I were to leave this life and leave her too soon her life would never again be the same.

So, regardless of how much it ages me, the time has come to get over myself and realize that life is unpredictable, and for reasons unknown, I too, could be taken too young. I guess this makes me an official grown-up. Just please, don’t tell anyone.

My heart and prayers go out to the family and friends of Andrew and Dustin Giroux, and especially to Ryan Coleman on what would have been his birthday weekend.