Ask any North Carolinian, and they’ll tell you: death comes in threes. An old wives’ tale? Maybe. That doesn’t exactly stop us from holding our breath or whispering frantic prayers after someone dies.
I’ve heard this superstition my whole life – and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that doesn’t believe it. Time and again, I’ve lost loved ones in groups of three. It happened in 1993, 2004, 2009, and over the last five months.
How about you? Do you put any stock in this old wives’ tale?