Most of our generation has been taught not to talk about death. Whether it be during class or during life, we've been taught that death is a dirty word. We've been put under the impression that to talk about death is to talk about something that is not socially acceptable. Not to be completely cliche, but here's a news flash for everyone, death is not a dirty word; people die literally (using the word in the right way) every single day.

Both of my parents are the youngest of their siblings. My father is one of seven and my mom was one of six. I'm one of two siblings and also happen to be the youngest, which means I am also the youngest of all of my (30-ish) cousins. This means, even though I've been on this Earth for 20 years, I'm also still referred to as the baby of the family; which, admittedly, is totally embarrassing. Even though I consider it annoying, it's something that I've cherished since I was born. Being referred to as the generations "baby" gives me a sort of title that no one else can attain in my family.

When my father was 5, he lost his father; the grandfather I never knew.

When I was 6 I lost my Papa. Us cousins spent the day playing games in the other room while the funeral was going on. We played Jenga and Monopoly and everything we could possibly play to keep our minds off of what was going on in the other room.

When I was 9 years old I lost my grandmother from my dad's side. I had spent months going to and from the nursing home, trying to make her remember who I was. I spent days crying because my grandmother didn't recognize her own son. She had to rely on the confirmation from her nurses that we were actually family. When she passed away, that was the first time I'd ever seen my father cry. This was also the first time I'd ever seen the Broadway production of Rent, on a portable DVD player that I was given to keep myself occupied.

When I was 14, I lost a friend of mine as a result of complications due to a car accident that had been caused by a drunk driver. My brother and I drove right past the accident on our way home from school. We had no idea it was her until our mom called us at school the next day.

When I was 18, I lost my grandmother on my mom's side; the last grandparent I had to call mine, during finals week of my first semester freshman year. During the summer a few months earlier I had lost my uncle. I had to witness my grandmother outlive her own son. I had to watch her burry her son and be a helpless bystander while she had to feel like heartache of what it's like for a parent to lose a child.

When I was 19, I lost a teammate as a result of a car accident. It was just that, an accident. A car that couldn't pump it's breaks hard enough to combat the ice on the roads that was inevitably causing their truck to slide into hers.

I've known more people that have died in my lifetime than any 20-year-old is expected to. I know people my age that have never been to a funeral in their life and all I think when I hear this is, how is that possible? How have you been that lucky to never have known anyone who has died?

Death is not a dirty word, it is not something that is frowned upon to talk about or something that is not socially acceptable. People around us deal with death every day. There are grief counselors for a reason, people have group therapy sessions for a reason. We are not supposed to be expected to be able to go through things like this on our own.

I've grown up around the idea that things happen for a reason and that God only gives His toughest fights to his strongest soldiers. Luckily, everyone that I have in my life at this time has been able to survive anything that God has thrown at them, and I pray that they continue to do so.

The people in your life are a blessing and they shape you into the person that you are; cherish that as long as you are able to.