A coincidence is two or more things happening at the same time, or something happening when we are ready for it. Since we have what seems like an infinity of time (not quite) for something to happen at just the right time beats all the odds. It’s like a minor miracle. I love miracles. Don’t you?
We live in a universe of wonders. My second son, Paul, died on the Feast of the Lady of Guadalupe, whose shrine in Mexico is the most visited religious site anywhere in the world, of any single faith. He has good company, and yes, I believe he’s still alive, somehow. I’m writing about him here.
He was a rock climber. That means he climbed difficult mountains, like in the Shawangunks, in NY, where he got his practice. Then he went on to the Half Dome, in the California Sierras (Yosemite). That’s not what he died of. He knew enough to quit before it killed him. But there was still a coincidence there, anyway.