It has overtaken cities and towns, mountain ranges and coastal villages. It has been caused by nature and man, carelessness, stupidity, bad luck, hubris and plain evil.
But though we daily grapple with the reality of death, and must get on with our lives as best we can despite it, there are still instances that make us stop and think, if only for a moment.
One thing that invariably makes people ponder is the horror we all feel at the thought of a violent, lonely death.
There can be no worse.
The young woman whose body was found on Long Island last weekend went through a violent death, one in which the end could not have been lonelier.
The person, or persons, who committed the crime of murder in this gave no comfort or mercy.
Little is deserved in return.
At the end, the body of the young woman with the Claddagh ring was discovered by a man going for an early morning walk.
Such a thing is a celebration of life, the kind of activity during which someone least expects to discover another’s end to life.
But the moment of discovery was, in a sense, an end to this woman’s final, overwhelming loneliness.
She was taken back into the company of the living, of people who care about her passing from this world.
And who believe that her death cannot, should not, go unanswered.