Luck

Last night I attended a "Ladies Night Out" fundraiser dinner. Despite taking a highly strategic approach to dropping my raffle tickets into the small pink bags corresponding to various prizes (i.e., zero tickets in the full bag for the weekend get away, three tickets in the almost-empty bag for the Thursday night comedy club show), I did not win a single prize. In contrast, last year I won three.


Last year's haul at "Ladies Night Out"

Three weeks after winning three prizes last year, our baby died. A week later, we were informed I had a disease that only 900 of the 310 million Americans are diagnosed with each year. When I showed off my three prize baskets to Ryan that night, I had felt pretty lucky. A month later, I felt very unlucky. Had I used up my luck on an autographed basketball, crotcheted newborn sweater and blanket (that should have been Lily's but is now in our basement), and a hand-painted chair for Katelyn? Or was my diagnosis a continuation of low probability events happening to me?

Last evening, I had a great time with my friends, but I couldn't stop thinking about the past year. Last year's event is one of my final memories pre-APL. Last night, while we watched the prize baskets being delivered to the winners, I wondered what it would mean if I won a basket, or didn't win.

Luck is superstition. But I've always had luck (While growing up, it drove my older brother crazy. "She won another raffle?"), so I believe in it. My no-win results last night could mean I haven't shaken the bad luck that began with losing Lily. Or, I'd rather believe, zero prize baskets is a sign that my luck is back, that we're done with low probability events happening to us.