I have had a couple of brushes with death. First was a cancer diagnosis back around 1997, when I was newly married and really happy for the first time in my life (I mean, since the age of about nine or so, when finding reasons to be happy seemed a lot easier). It was totally unexpected; I went into the hospital for appendicitis, which it turned out had been caused by lymphoma.
Several years later, I was in a head-on collision with a drunk driver; for that brief moment when I realized I was not going to be able to avoid the crash, I was sure I was either about to die or at least be very seriously hurt. Instead, I walked away -- or rather, limped away. I was closer to serious trouble than I realized; one of my injuries was a lacerated spleen that I didn't know about until about a week later. Thankfully, the internal bleeding stopped on its own. Took about three days to get all he bits of glass out of my hair. The drunk driver died after he got to the hospital.
You can bet that these things certainly did affect my general attitude toward life.
SSB