I, who have lived more then three times your years, have rarely understood the occurrences and the people in the world that I have pretend to give order to. Yet I write sentences that end in periods. The problem belongs both to us and to those we hope to serve. Journalists are pretty good at unearthing the undeep issues. Give us a presidential scandal, even a war, and we can do a fair job of explaining the explicable.
Journalists tend to turn to where the noise is.
One of the things your death bequeaths is a reminder to where the noise is not. Your other bequest may be more useful still to journalists and everyone else. No life ends on a period, no matter how long it is lived. But your abbreviated life makes one especially aware of how much there is to the unknowable and untidy. In their private hours, your parents will imagine you as a wife, a mother, an actress in the movies or at the village playhouse.