Life was full of small tragedies. Henry had known that for years, but his daughter’s death was yet another reminder. She’d had a long, full life, left behind children and loved ones. It was sad when a parent outlived his child, but he was an old man. It could hardly be called unfair that his sixty-five year old daughter had died before him.
It still felt unfair. That was the tragedy. People would die, and people would be left behind to grieve. It didn’t matter the order. Somebody would be lost. Somebody would have to deal with that loss. He wished to hell it hadn’t been him left behind, but that wasn’t stopping the pain. It was merely giving it to someone else to carry.