Family ties.

There is a history of tragic death, you know. It's in our blood. Blood and water and falling. Adam fell, from very high. A story for every year he lived. My great, great grandmother strung herself from a bridge, swaying and feet kissing the waters surface: for her husband, for her children. My great uncle an imitation of Tolkien: a Drogo like drowning on a summer trip. Uncle Jack had nerves from the war, a gunner in a fighter plane: he drowned too. Some say he threw himself out.