I wrote a number of articles a while back that speak to transitions, but there is a very distinct difference (not always obvious) when someONE dies, rather than someTHING.

The deep intimacy and the rich interweavings of the emotions are very, very different. I can be identified with a lifestyle or way of being. But a loved one? The great Love of my Life died in a plane crash back in 1973 while I was on my way driving to New York City for my first military assignment. I don’t know that I ever quite recovered. I am still not sure. A piece of me most assuredly died with him that day.