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Death isn't a contest. My sister buried her husband this week, and it
doesn't make me think of how pathetic it is that the world doesn't stop
and bemoan his passing. It makes me think of finality and sorrow.
Death represents the unknown to me, and I have always respected the
unknown. This is where someone chimes in with, "Uh, we already know
what happens when you die--NOTHING." You'll have to pardon me, I am
an old woman. How old? Old enough to know that I know very little
indeed.
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