Death is the most universal subject there is. Medical science is dedicated, ultimately, to defying it. The arts have fixated on it to the point that some believe all art is really, ultimately, about death. For all the thought we've given the subject, though, there's nothing of any value whatsoever to be said. Even saying there's nothing to say has become a cliche.
And yet, we cannot avoid the compulsion to say something. Maybe it's because we hope that if we throw enough platitudes on the wall, someone is bound to find something that sticks. Maybe it's how we sign the attendance sheet, verifying to our loved ones that we are present with them at such a difficult time. Maybe we just can't stand the silence. I don't know.
Even this stream-of-consciousness post only amounts to a feeble attempt to reach out and somehow connect with someone about this. I don't expect anyone to have anything insightful to say, so it's fine if you've read this and don't reply. I'm not even sure I want to publish any comments on this post, to be honest, though I'll certainly read them.