I don’t think I’ve ever thought I was going to die. As I look back over my memories, I can pick out a couple of times where death was not unlikely. I’ve been afraid I would get hurt, but pain has always been my most attentive companion. But I’ve always been most concerned with correcting whatever the situation is. Be it losing blood from careless use of knives. Or running a fever that hit 107.3. Or waking up in a hospital bed that I am told I had been in for 3 days. Or fighting with an inmate who was trying to throw me over the railing to the concrete below. Or hearing explosions. I’ve always just tried to solve the problem at hand and as often as possible get everything cleaned up so that no one in my family would be worried.