When my sister and I were youngsters, we would play in front of our house, near the mailbox. Mom and dad were watching through the window, and according to them, my mother turned to my father and requested him to bring us inside. He shook her off, but she got more insistent.

He asked what was wrong, and mother panicked and dashed for the front door, despite being less than a week away from giving birth to our youngest sister. He stopped her and stepped outside to summon us, and we obeyed.

Less than a minute later, a car sped down the street and hit our mailbox, smashing it. We would both have died instantaneously. My parents have never felt totally comfortable discussing it.