[ WP ] You begin to have the sneaking suspicion that Death *likes* you

Wind brushes my bangs back like the familiar fingers of my mother. This touch is more soothing than her shriveled and cold hands would be now. She died three years ago. Before my father, after my brother. 
 
 Now, in the familiar hospital courtyard that had become a second home, I pace. Chris went in for surgery four hours ago. The procedure is typically two. Somehow, though I know it ’ s impossible, I sense a shadow in the corner of my vision, one who has found a home there my whole life. Much as I have found a home among these rickety benches and inappropriately cheerful flowers. 
 
 When I was born, my grandparents both died. “ You certainly can ’ t blame yourself for their death! You were an infant! ”, is what you must be thinking. But no. They were fatally injured in an accident on the way to the hospital *to see me*. Luckily they made it to the same hospital. Unluckily, I never met them because they never regained consciousness after the crash. 
 
 My other set never visited. Perhaps it was all the better for their health. 
 
 Michael, my brother, died at the ripe age of four, in this same hospital. Scarlet fever. 
 
 My mother? Breast cancer. 
 
 My father was attacked by a burglar and suffered fatal injuries. He died in this hospital too. 
 
 Countless pets throughout my childhood, all for different reasons. 
 
 Nothing connected them. There was no commonality, no definable cause. Aside from me. 
 
 Now Chris. Knowing my penchant for destroying life, love wasn ’ t a thought I entertained, but a lifestyle that he forced upon me. For a few years, I was so grateful for that persuasion. But here I am now, in the same hospital that I was born in, where I watched my family die. 
 
 Looking at my watch, it has now been five hours since Chris was wheeled away for a two hour surgery. 
 
 “ Mrs. Gray? ” A nurse stands by the door, clipboard in hand. Turning towards her the shadow in the corner of my vision shifts. Still there.
