Death. It hurts because there is nothing like it

As I have noticed that very few people including myself like reading a book where the love interest dies in the middle of the story.

I found myself wanting to put the book down because there was, in my mind, no point in continuing.

We don’t like death. Books that kill off one of the main characters half way through and then talk about people dealing with it don’t do nearly as well as books which might have a perfect ending. Even the books with the bittersweet endings do well.

We do not like to deal with death, to be confronted with it.

But it happens. All the guilt. The pain. The unspoken words. The uncertainty. The insecurity. The doubts. And the sickening, stomach-wrenching realisation that they will never ever be back. That is what hurts.

The constant realisation of the end and conclusion. We don’t have a concept of never (whether your faith allows you to believe in an ‘after’ of some description or not there is still the uncertainty of what it will look like or how long you will have to wait for it).

I think, ultimately, the permanency of the absence (in comparison to everything else in life) is the most disturbing. If you believe in resurrection then you have hope. However, the permanence is still overwhelming.

Everything else in life can be replaced or duplicated or restored. But due to the unique combination of unique qualities (and even physical qualities) and their life experiences and the sanctity that life intrinsically carries, we cannot replace the person.