Everything dies, after all.
Our interaction with this reality tends to wax and wane. The further we are from reality, the more we have invested in the denial or necessity of death. Narcissistically, it is only for others, and we can easily help them on their way. Depressively, it is the most significant possibility we can recognize through dark and blindered glasses.
In a somewhat reasonable time of awareness, we are capable of noting times and seasons of death. Mourning the loss of our own experience or the presence of another takes on the sense of a marker we can come to not only appreciate but celebrate. Noting a limit heightens the importance of relaxing into its arms. Such restrictions focus us on making the most of the opportunity at hand, bringing all we can to bear on behalf of those who may yet arrive if there are still seven generations to come—this is never guaranteed and always a statement of faith.
In the best of times and the worst of times, we are most enlivened when death is at our advisory table to lend its perspective. While it neither deserves the first or last word, it makes the conversation the richer and the decision cleaner and brighter.