Aloha, Rose Friedman, and mahalo.
When my father died, I reread The Epic of Gilgamesh, a story of loss and one of mankind's oldest works of literature, and Tennyson's Tithonus. When my mother passed, I again reread Tithonus. Great writers remind us that countless generations have walked this path, and dealt with this grief.
"The troubls of our proud and angry dust
are of eternity and shall not fail.
Bear them we can and if we can, we must.
Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale."
Some years ago I tried to interest a very bright and very compassionate 4th grader (a Christian) in Evolutionary Theory, and he said he did not like to think about evolution, since it reminded him of death. I did not persist, beyond observing that the brain, which allows us to observe death and to feel grief, is a product of evolution. Without an evolved brain, we could not feel love and loss. I count myself lucky to have met briefly a few great evolutionary success stories: Paul Cohen, Milton Friedman and, briefly, Rose Friedman. I do not expect to be so lucky again, outside of the narrowing circle of my aging friends and relatives. The friends of the Friedmans enjoyed a rare good fortune. They will pay a price: only the living suffer.
Aloha, Rose Friedman.