Humans are predominantly fragile creatures. You cannot deny the invariable condition of the species. People collide into all sorts of things including each other. They get scratched, bruised, and sometimes broken.

Then there was Henry. ‘Built to last!’ was his slogan after he shattered his elbow and fractured his femur.

You couldn’t tell Henry that he wasn’t superman no matter how many times he came home with another fall or fail, another fracture or broken bone, another gratuitous scar. His attitude was firmly stoic despite all the operations, the orthopedic implants, the sheer amount of titanium introduced into his body over time.

Some people would just quit. Stay inside. Hire security. Weep before an ever-loving God with complete resignation and devotion. Not Henry. He would book an extreme parasailing adventure or unsuccessfully take on the Bangkok underground fighting circuit. And he would always come back with a new injury and an incredible story that’s validity was questionable at best.

Henry’s singular drive towards putting himself in harm’s way was exhausting and seemed to be his only talent. Some people were just built a certain way that confounded the rest of us. Perhaps it was life laughing at itself.

When a building finally came down on Henry, he should have been absolutely crushed but miraculously had managed to only break his leg (again). How or why no longer applied in his dimension. I didn’t even get the full story except that he had stumbled onto a pending demolition site looking for a lost puppy. At this point in his life, I was the only person left in the world that would pick Henry up from the hospital.

Henry snickered as he hobbled over. “Built to last!” He gleamed.

“Shut-up, Henry. Get in the car.”