"For every Southern boy fourteen years old, not once but whenever he wants it is the instant when it is still not yet two o'clock on that July afternoon in 1863, the brigades are in position behind the rail fence, the guns are laid and ready in the woods and the furled flags are already loosened to break out and Pickett himself with his long oiled ringlets and his hat in one hand and his sword in the other looking up the hill waiting for Longstreet to give the word and it's all in the balance, it hasn't happened yet, it hasn't even begun yet, it not only hasn't begun yet but there is still time for it not to begin against that position and those circumstances which made more men than Garnett and Kemper and Armstead and Wilcox look grave yet it's going to begin, we all know that, we have come too far with too much at stake and that moment doesn't need even a fourteen year old boy to think this time.Maybe this time with all this much to lose and all this much to gain: Pennsylvania, Maryland, the world, the golden dome of Washington itself to crown with desperate and unbelievable victory the desperate gamble, the cast made two years ago......"
Some have great difficulty in accepting the awesome, absolute finality of death. Mostly they understand it's a natural conclusion to life, but emotionally, it's not what they 'want', so they begrudge the loss. I think most people grieve over their own failings in their duty or responsibilities to the deceased, more so than the actual loss of Grannie. A few never accept the fact, and try to keep alive the memory of the one departed in some way.
I leave the subject here, for your thoughts, consideration and comments.