Death is the end of living.
All those biological processes – stopped.
It’s hard to imagine the blood stopping its circuit, the neurons no longer firing.
It’s easier to imagine the cessation of familiar parts of being –
No more rising belly breath, silly rambling thoughts or winter hands in need of warming.

It’s possible to imagine this in myself because I know my body, I know my age, I know the constructive and deconstructive properties of time and nature. I am nothing if not rational.

But death is not welcome to touch my children.
And what does one do if they dance with him continuously?
If they are not rational? If they do not value their youth or listen to reason?

Seriously, I am asking you: what does one do?