Many say that physical death is not true death, that as long as we are remembered we continue to live on in memories. I thought about that saying a lot when I was younger. Time passes and memories degrade. What was once the memory of a whole person eventually disintegrates into fragmented recollections of events and impressions. Details are drowned out by noise as stories are recounted from mouth to mouth, until eventually flanderization transforms the memory-person into a caricaturized shell of their former self. I find this to be the moment people truly die, when the multitude of their life and being gets compressed down into a single trait or two. Still, I consider this a peaceful death. It’s a fortune to have one’s existence persist beyond the limitations of human lifespan, even just for a little while.
If there are fortunate ones for whom true death happens after physical death, I suppose it also makes sense for there to be unfortunate ones who die before biology claims their body. Insignificant quirks and traits get lost easily while we focus on the Significant to turn the gears of society. When I was younger I loved a lot of things. Looking back, I wonder if I have died a long time ago.