Death. Like the chicken-man, it's everywhere.

There’s too much of this death thing going around. It’s everywhere and no one seems safe. The most frightening aspect of it all is that it seems to be discriminately picking off young family members in the prime of their lives. Every time someone goes I find it that bit harder to not cry over someone I didn’t know.

It started, in my consciousness, with Troy Broadbridge, the Melbourne footballer who died in the Asian Tsunami while on his honeymoon. While on his honeymoon!

Since then we’ve had Steve Irwin, one of the most animated people I’ve ever seen on TV, being pierced in the heart by a sting-ray and entering folklore as someone who could tame crocodiles but not big flat fish with eyes a metre apart.

There’s Belinda Emmett, who in the words of her husband Rove McManus, “turned the lemons of my [his] life into lemonade”. Poetry.

There have been others not-so-famous but equally sad – Brendon Keilar, who was coldly shot dead coming to the aid of a woman who didn’t deserve his help, as it turns out. He left behind a young family who now grow up without their father.

Since I found out my wife and I were expecting (read about it all at beingadaddy.net) I’ve become acutely aware of the fragility of life and how important it is to take care of oneself. I quit smoking in an effort to be around for a lot longer and tomorrow I start on a fitness regime that will help me drop 15kg and be in the best shape I can be so I’m up to the rigmarole of being a parent.

But then today I see a newsflash that Jane McGrath has passed away at 42. Glenn and the two young kids are now alone and will have a gaping chasm for a mother for the rest of their lives. How can you not cry at that?!