Out, Out Brief Candle

A fine man, a generous heart, and a friend just died. He was aged. We expect old people to die. This is how life is. We are born; we grow up; we get old; we die. I have some other friends who lost a child. He was a little over a week old. An odd twist of fate caused his death. This we do not expect. This we mourn over. This hurts . . . perhaps for as long as we live. We struggle with questions when such things occur. Why? The bane of mankind is not necessarily our death or that of a loved one, but our inability to understand.

Shakespeare has Macbeth mourning the premature death of his wife with these words:

She should have died hereafter;
There would have been a time for such a word.
To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

Without God all this is too desperately true. Even with God the hurt is still painful, but hope is present and offers some peace.