And we know it. So we write our wills and take out life insurance. We lower our expectations. We bury loved ones when they die and leave the cemetery without even the slightest glimmer of hope that we will, through some strange occurrence, bump into them again someday. It just doesn't happen that way.
Life goes to death.
And death is the end of the road. So the kids disposed of the squirrel. Which is precisely what the women expected and counted on so many years ago when they trudged to the tomb for a farewell look. It had been a violent weekend for them, a cruel one. Death had come crashing down on their hopes.