The soul doesn't adhere to it. And as your friends and family die you discover that nobody ever really leaves.
Death is alive.
People come alive within us after they die with all their selves, all their open and hidden aspects, rather than just the selves we tried carefully to select as they lived. How strange it is to feel them come more fully alive in us after they've gone. In death they seem privy to all our secrets, while so many of theirs are still opaque to us. I don't mean it serenely. I mean it restlessly, sleeplessly, desperately.