The Tragic Sense of Life

In class we have spoken of tragedies and the tragic sense of life. I have examined my own life and will in this post give exerpts from my personal experiences with tragedy. What follows is pretty heavy in places so read on with discretion.
When I was 7 years old my mother married my stepfather and I was ripped away from my known, comfortable existence as an only child in a loving home raised by his single mother and grandparents, to a Cinderella-esque situation having 3 step siblings with whom I did not get along. This was a terrible experience for me, at first, it has since gotten much better.
When I was in 8th grade my Papa, whom was more of a father to me than either of my actual fathers (biological, step), was diagnosed with two different types of cancer one of which being Mesothelioma caused by esbestos. I watched the man I looked up to most slowly deteriorate in front of my eyes wating away to what was, at the end, not much more than a thin layer of flesh drapped loosely over bone. By the end he was so weak he couldn't speak or move on his own. I spent nearly every free, waking hour by his side. I watched my hero die and to this day am still deeply effected by what happened. Not only did this leave me without a hero, it left my Nana without the love of her life, the man with whom she'd had 6 children and spent everyday of her life from a young age. I cannot think of a greater loss.
The summer after I had graduated from high school a good friend of mine, and teammate, died in a drunk driving accident, the night before I had been partying and hanging out with him and other friends and this kid frequently drove innebriated. I certainly didn't approve but I kept my mouth shut, something I wish I hadn't done. The following day I received a text that read: Matt is dead. That's all it said, no more, no less, just; Matt is dead. Imagine getting that text at 9:00 a.m. I didn't even believe it, I chalked it up to a cruel joke, it was anything but, it was all too real. To this day I can't help but wonder if things may have been different had I been there, but I can't allow myself to dwell on that because what happened can't be changed, so instead I redirect my thoughts to the memories and good times.
This past summer I recieved a message telling me that a friend of 12 years had passed away. He overdosed on prescription drugs and hard liqour and died in a pool of his own vomit at only 19 years old. If this isn't tragic in the most basic sense of the word than I don't know what is.