When I was thirteen, my father died. He had suffered a coronary attack days earlier and was rushed to the hospital. He recovered, so it seemed. I last saw him in the hospital on a Wednesday, two days before he was due to return home.

On Friday, the day we looked forward to his return, a woman showed up in the back of my school classroom. I saw her talking to my teacher. Probably they looked my way. I knew why she was there. I knew my father had died. She came and gave me the news and took me home to my grieving mother and the many friends of my family.

That’s the day I realized how suddenly good can turn to bad. It’s the time I began accepting good times as always temporary. It’s why I wait for that knock on the door or that phone call or that visit by a policeman.

Nobody enjoys a pessimist, so I try to blunt my tendency to melancholy. After all, I have close friends. I have enjoyed more blessings than I have a right to expect. I take pleasure in friends and books and hiking and travel and a thousand other pursuits.

Still, I accept my tendency to pessimism. No reason to stress over it. We pessimists have our place.

The character of Puddleglum, from C.S. Lewis’ The Silver Chair offers solace. Puddleglum, as his name indicated, was a born pessimist. It certainly made him a less than ideal companion during good times. On the other hand, Puddleglum was an ideal companion when bad times came. Unsurprised, he offered stoical help.

Perhaps there’s a place for us pessimists.