panic attacks aren't pretty

I've been part of a message board for the last 7 years. It's hard to explain how you get to know people you've never officially met IRL. Some are your best of friends, others just acquaintances who make you laugh and/or ponder life. This week tragedy struck one of our members. I've been stunned and in tears for her & her children, although I've never met them.

Summer 2007 has brought death in many forms to my small little world, but this has been the most cruel. Young husbands & fathers aren't supposed to die. Period.

And then, the bridge collapse. One of my lifelong fears comes to life on the evening news. The stories are just unraveling. How lives were lost or spared by just a second. I find myself questioning it - did some of them speed to get home faster only to plunge to their untimely death?

When Olivia was born I had trouble driving across the bridges. I live in a city famous for the number of bridges. It really wasn't an option not to cross them. I did voice my fears to Dana who understood completely, and to Frank who didn't and insisted it would all be fine, and to not skip my Zoloft. My fear was a Sophie's Choice of sorts - if the bridge collapses and I'm trapped in my mini-van - which child do I save? Could I save them both? A newborn and a two year old? Unlikely. Maybe I should never leave the house. Yes, I've had those thoughts. Panic attacks aren't pretty. My heart races and my mind goes into overload of worrying about all the what ifs.

But why?
Could someone explain it to me why?
Why. Why. Why. Why.