The Kim family has been on my mind and part of that being on my mind has been bewilderment and a bit of annoyance that I've become so attached to their fate. The flood of images and anecdotes that first appeared on several of my Web channels were updated daily, and after just a couple of days I'd become invested in the well-being of the handsome family.

I just couldn't imagine what could've happened on a road trip that would result in the disappearance of an entire family. At first I thought it had to have been an accident along the highway and that their car and bodies would be found in some wet ravine shrouded in evergreens. But what an accident that would have to be! The days passed and it didn’t make sense to me that such would remain undiscovered. I began to wonder about foul play, which seemed far-fetched but also plausible given the length of time the family had been missing.

Then came the cell phone signal that pinpointed their position in the wilderness and that spurred a tightened search in a remote area crisscrossed by logging roads. By this time, I was checking the news daily for updates instead of reading passively the glimpses of it that happened to scroll by.

When they found mom and daughters alive and well without dad the best possible outcome was just around the corner: James couldn't be far. But still, we waited.

Yesterday morning I saw a disabled car in the left lane of the Aurora viaduct. A police car with lights flashing guarded the car from behind. As I passed, I saw a rundown vehicle with an unkempt child sitting in the backseat. A disheveled man lifted a gas can and began to pour the fuel into the tank.

I thought of families who live dime to dime, running on empty as far as they can until, sometimes, they run out of gas. They are always at risk because they can't afford security. So, here they are, their tank empty and their misfortune in full view of the morning commute. I thought, if it were this family out there in the snow there wouldn't be a privately funded search-and-rescue team in pursuit. No additional helicoptors and no experts in cell phone technology to pinpoint a longshot signal.

Even if it were me, there would be no such press or pursuit.

Then I wondered why it was I knew about the Kim family at all, and why, when they had all the safety of the world available to them that they found themselves out of safety's reach.

That's when I thought of the hubris that led the Kims to that remote road in the mountains. This is the same hubris we all have—all of us of their ilk. Most of the time, we are so used to the pretense of prevailing over nature that we wholeheartedly take it for granted. We dress for inhabiting climate-controlled cars and buildings and without regard for outdoor conditions. We rely on cell phones to call for our own rescue, no matter where we are. We think 4-wheel drive Barbie cars can go anywhere; cheap food can be found at every corner.

It could've been any us on that road that night.

When we embark on a series of risky decisions and the switches of fate align miraculously to give us a second chance, we can reflect on how lucky we have been. I can think of at least a couple of times when this has happened to me.

All of the decisions the Kims made were decisions I could imagine myself making if I were in the same situation. I can also imagine other decisions, but the ones they made were ones I could also have made. I might not have made all of the same decisions, but perhaps I would have made some of them. In any case, all of the decisions they made led to this outcome. For each decision switch they passed that deepened the risk, it became more difficult for decision-making to right itself.

Deciding to take a scenic and remote route in winter instead of the well-traveled highway; setting off alone for help; leaving the road for the disorienting terrain of the valley; removing clothing—with each new piece of information I realized with dread that the decision chain made recovery less likely. My optimism turned to hope.

This morning I checked the AP for an update and saw a story about a Bainbridge Island man who had been found after being stranded for two weeks. Like the Kims, his car got stuck in the snow. He survived because he knew the gravity of his situation. He rationed his food and his fuel—and his patience. With that, he waited in his truck for two weeks. Of course, he didn’t have children, and he had a sleeping bag. Importantly, he had prepared for being in the back country.

Today I was just making tea when NPR announced the breaking news. First, James's body had been discovered. A few minutes later, they confirmed his death. It hit me harder than a stranger's death should. So many people are dying—car accidents, soldiers and civilians in Iraq, etc.—how'd I get so attached? I turned off the radio and sat in the quiet of the house watching the steam from the cup crawl over itself to escape.

I wanted him to live.

I wanted the family to survive the near-miss intact so that they and their loved ones could be spared the loss. I wanted them to have the relief of recovery and to relish the austere learning of second chances.

It doesn’t matter how I came to know about them. What matters is that if by chance we became aware of any other one of us and learned the details of our individual circumstances and about the people who love us, we would recognize our shared condition and mourn the collective loss.