Death is something we know from a young age, or at least I did. When you are brought up a hunter you know that things die. You see it first hand and you feel the blood on your hands and the shuttering last breath of your prey. It is a part of your life, it feeds you and clothes you, its bones become weapons and tools. There is a certain respect to that death.
Children are also a part of your life, especially mine. In the tribe, in my own clan and my own dear daughter. You expect them to grow and become something else in the future. Perhaps a parent of their own child. There are always cycles I see in life, but then there are times where I see nothing.
The death of a child is hard, what purpose does it serve, none that I know. You barely had time to know what they would be. But today I buried a child that had not been born, was it a child at all? The greatness of the loss, not of who they were, but who they could have been. The many different possibilities that were lost, the paths never trodden. It is not just the death of a unborn child, it is the death of a universe of possibilities that will never be.
Children are also a part of your life, especially mine. In the tribe, in my own clan and my own dear daughter. You expect them to grow and become something else in the future. Perhaps a parent of their own child. There are always cycles I see in life, but then there are times where I see nothing.
The death of a child is hard, what purpose does it serve, none that I know. You barely had time to know what they would be. But today I buried a child that had not been born, was it a child at all? The greatness of the loss, not of who they were, but who they could have been. The many different possibilities that were lost, the paths never trodden. It is not just the death of a unborn child, it is the death of a universe of possibilities that will never be.
