Last night I dreamt of death. A woman I scantly know in waking life, suddenly losing her tether to Earth, sending ripples of grievous longing through the community that once surrounded her. These factions of her life knit closer by their sorrow for a shared soul. They found one another in the crowds and shared time holding her newly born child, baptizing this baby in monsoons of weeping and waves of fierce love. It would all be passed to the new life. There would be no vain attached to her parting gift, only transference of generational inseparability. Affections that pronounced with the desire to waste not a moment and shed no hatred. In death, we create a better life.