There are other characters in this morose, wintry play. A mechanic whose wife died several years earlier follows his twin children on the bus in his pickup truck every morning. It is an image far more haunting than any big ship sinking beneath the sea, the mixture of shock, anguish and loss of control on his face as he watches in horror as his children, smiling, waving, are entombed in the school bus. We have no control over anything. We watch the people we love more than life itself plunge into an abyss where we cannot help them.
Terrible things happen to innocent people.
There is no rhyme or reason to real life. But even she is scarred beyond repair, forced to start from scratch and reevaluate her life. There are no neat little endings wrapped up with bows. There are no moments of tension-relieving catharsis beyond the most subtle of glances. No dead people come back, no lives return to normal.