Tragedy is a daily occurrence constantly happening all around me. As I head to school, a motorcycle crash and a dead coyote in the road. When I come home, I bet the dead coyote will still be there. There is sickness, broken families, poverty, and so many more problems big and small around me. And somehow I'm still okay. My mom always talks about how grateful she is and how lucky we are. Stable home, food on the table, a healthy and happy family, and love all around. I’ve never been in a car accident or seriously injured like I see so many other people get on the news. I have only broken one bone, my right wrist which is still a little bent up. We’re the lucky ones. The ones who don’t need to worry, but still do. Is it bizarre that sometimes I wish to be in a car accident? To know what it feels like in those twenty or so seconds that defines my fate, what happens after. Is it a rush, or does it feel like slow motion and the pain comes later? But then I remember to be grateful. We’re the lucky ones. I haven’t been heartbroken before. Still sleeping in a dust of pure innocence, but sometimes I hope one day at least I’ll know what it feels like before the heartbreak. Before the shattering, with the glass stained and cracked, will it be worth it? But I don’t have to worry about that. We’re the lucky ones. Will I be stable? I ask myself this question every day simply for the worry and wonder. It makes my head throb and my heart beat two times faster. Everyone tells me not to worry, that I’ll be fine, but I can’t help it. Even though we’re the lucky ones. Even though we don’t need to worry, but still do. I can’t help it. Because one day out of the blue, I’ll be lost, again and again searching with a dim flashlight possibly headed nowhere. But for now, I stay hidden, burrowed underground, safe and sound. We’re the lucky ones.