Recurring mothers and disappearing lovers

Prolouge

Their are one-hundred years in a century and ten in one decade.  Did you know that the average person in Swaziland (according to google) lives only 31.99 years? That's well that's only about 31% of a century.  That's only about three decades.  But in Japan they live around till 82 years of age.  Which is 82% of a century and an about eight decades.  Well I am extremely happy for the people in Japan, but deeply sorry for everyone in dear old Swaziland.  But I have good news for anyone that lives in America!  The average person over here lives to be about 80.0 years old!  That's 80% of a century and exactly eight decades!

    Imagine what a person could do with eighty years.  Many choose the path of family, have lots of kids and buy a house, where they live out their final days doing, well whatever a parent does once their children leave.  While others go really hippie style and live in a camp or something with their dogs, and die like trying to take a selfie with a bear.  But hey, if you die that way at least you'll have a nice picture. Others end up cliff-diving for a living, doing crazy stunts and die doing what they love.  There's so many paths, so much stuff you could do. 

    So tell me this one, if their are 80.0 years in our life expectancy rate, than why did my best friend only get to experience 13.6 percent of this rate?  The way I look at life is that every great person should get a century or more, not seventeen years.  Everyone said she had so much left to do in life, that's not true, in order to have stuff to do with your life, you need one basic thing.  A life.  Now I'm not referring to that she had no friends, I mean she was loved by almost everyone, even though she was considered a loser by the extremely selfish "Queens bees" of the school.

    I'm referring to the numbers of years you get.  My mother told me "It's not the number of years you live, it's how many hearts you manage to catch"  sure it was a nice quote and all, but it really bothered me.  I mean yea, I totally get she was trying to help and all, but the thing was you don't just show up at your son's, best friend's funeral and pretend you want to play mother.  But I nodded and smiled. 

But I wasn't just angry at my "mother" I was angry at myself.  I felt like this was my fault she was even at this funeral, but not the rememberer, the rememberee.  Oh yea, that's right you weren't here for any of what happened these last few months.  I guess I should start at the beginning, the beginning of the girl that filled in every gap my life had ever held, the beginning of Abigail Macosen.