My Portuguese grandmother had an old belief that births and deaths always came in threes and it seems to always be the case in my life. 

While pregnancies are usually a happy thing –  I always eagerly await for the second and  third announcements to celebrate – when someone dies, I brace myself for the additional sadness to come. 

Not long ago, I wrote about the work colleague that passed and how it affected me, even if I hardly knew him. Then my grandmother passed. Not the Portuguese one, who died many years ago, the other one who was my last living grandparent. 

I was waiting for death number three for a while. I’m not sure why but usually the first two happen in succession and the third one after a break. I had forgotten about it when it struck. 

Another work colleague – a young woman, younger than me, healthy, happily married, with two small children – entered hospital on a Monday with a bacterial infection said to be pneumonia. On Saturday she died of septicaemia. I was in shock. 

I knew her. We were not friends but I knew her well. She worked in HR and had contact with everyone in our company. 

I feel especially sad to think her children will grow without their mother and I cry.

It also serves me as a reminder not to take life for granted. I feel my quest for happiness and love is not so stupid after all. 

I feel I need to allow myself this chance.