A Natural Place for Death
No one really wants to think about leaving this place. It grows on us after a while, and those biological impulses of self-preservation are powerful. So a lot of us just don't think about it. That means that when mortality sends us its final notice, whether though the death of someone close, or the realization of one's own limited days, we're often left unprepared.
Every one of my molecules was once something else. I could be made up of hyenadons, and primitive bryophytes, and cyanobacteria. Could one of my tiniest pieces once have been a building block for the last common ancestor of all life on the planet? I know I also have bits of rock and ocean within me. My very atoms were forged in the crucibles of stars throughout the universe. Every time I touch my hand to my face, I am bringing together fragments of countless beings and times.
Let me make space for someone new. Maybe there'll be another human being, but there could also be a Douglas squirrel, or a licorice fern, or a chanterelle that takes up my virtual real estate. Whoever it is, they'll get their time here before they make space for another new arrival, and so on.