Who you are in death isn't necessarily a sum of who you've been, nor a July 4th finale of being. Who you were is stretched out across time and spread across people, moments, and the traces you've left behind. Who you were is many things. Who you are, is suddenly nothing.
This isn't meant to be morbid. It's just some thoughts I thought around the time I took Whidbey in to be put to sleep. A sunny afternoon. His eyes never closed.
Figured I'd have posted on this months ago, just didn't get around to it before now.