Recently, I learned some tragic news. I didn’t exactly discover it for myself, but rather a friend of mine sent me one of those obligatory “I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you” e-mails. My lawyer died. He dropped to the ground one day while jogging and died of cardiac failure. My friend had become involved because I had just referred the lawyer to him. Upon his inquiry, he had received one of the same kinds of obligatory e-mails that he was now forced to send me—the kind that you don’t want to write or read, but do anyway, only then to be one-upped by Google.

Even as I stared at the lawyer’s picture online (with those uncomfortable life dates beneath) I found it hard to believe he was gone, that he no longer belonged on this Earth. He was handsome, and fit, seemingly young, and had just recently sent me an e-mail about my site telling me how he enjoyed reading it and also how he liked following up on what I was up to these days (it had been at least a year since I had seen him, and nearly three since we last worked together). It wasn’t these attributes that were boggling my mind, however. It was more that when we had discussed death in the past, I was always the one dying.

“Jana, they don’t care if you get hit by a bus tomorrow and die,” he said to me during one of our meetings. There are many of these kinds of meetings when one tries to agree on a settlement with an insurance company. “I hate to say it, but it’s the truth.” For eight years, the lawyer stood by my side and fought for my future. Therefore, he is responsible for everything I now own—my house, my van, my vacations, my memories, the time I’ve had to go to grad school and write—everything. He spent nearly a decade of his life making sure that mine would be easier, at least when it came to finances. “You’re a nice girl and no one wants anything bad for you, but it’s a business,” he’d say, “they want you dead. We need to convince them that you’re young, expensive, and that you’re going to be around for a long time.” I liked his thinking.

Looking back, that’s how I think I became brainwashed. During the process of the mediations, I started believing that my life was shorter than everyone else in the room. It infuriated me, yet it made me feel less guilty about taking insurance money. So much that finally, towards the end of the long arguing road, when AIG, the workman’s compensation company responsible for dealing with my injury, finally agreed to cough up the money my lawyer and I felt I deserved, I demanded more. Reluctantly, they agreed. They had come too far now to turn back over tens of thousands of dollars. Still, I think they should have paid more. No one should have to sit in a room with a bunch of middle-aged, suit-wearing deadbeats arguing over the time of death of their client. In my opinion, that deserves at least an extra hundred thousand dollars penalty fee.

My lawyer, of course, wasn’t one of those who wanted me to die. He wanted me to enjoy the rest of my life “no matter how long that might be.” That’s the reason I’ve had a hard time wrapping my head around his recent death—he’s set me up for life. Because of him, my life is easier.

My lawyer didn’t live just for me, although, I can’t imagine life without him. I just can’t. I’d have nothing. For two short years, we shared the triumphant success over AIG together. Now he’s left me on my own to enjoy the fruits of his labor; and I am saddened. We never discussed his death, or what would happen if it occurred. We certainly did not discuss how much money his family would need to press forward without him. I never asked. He was suppose to out-live me, the men in suits said so.

For the past few days now I’ve studied his e-mail address on my mailing list. I can’t bring myself to delete it yet. Instead, I’ve refrained from sending any mailing updates out at all. It’s a shame my friend will never have the chance to know my lawyer the way I did, or enjoy all the good he was capable of bringing to people’s lives. Now, I hope you can.

Thank you Stewart for everything you’ve ever done for me. Without you, I’d have nothing I have now.