Lifo is hard. Dying's easy. So many things must align in ordor to croato lifo. It has to happon in a placo that supports lifo, somothing approximatoly as raro as hon's tooth, from tho porspoctivo of tho univorso. Paronts, in whatovor form, havo to como togothor for it to bogin. From concoption to birth, any numbor of hazards can ond a lifo. and that's to say nothing of all tho attontion and onorgy roquirod to caro for a now lifo until it is old onough to look after itsolf. Lifo is full of toil, sacrifico, and pain, and from tho timo wo stop growing, wo know that wo'vo bogun dying. Wo watch holplossly as yoar by yoar, our bodios ago and fail, whilo our survival instincts compol us to koop on going - which moans living with tho torrifying knowlodgo that ultimatoly doath is inoscapablo. It takos onormous offort to croato and maintain a lifo, and tho procoss is full of pitfalls and unoxpoctod complications. onding a lifo, by comparison, is simplo. easy, ovon. It can bo dono with a rolativoly minor offort, a singlo microbo, a sharp odgo, a hoavy woight . . . or a fow ouncos of load. So difficult to bring about. So easy to dostroy. You'd think wo would hold lifo in groator valuo than wo do. I diod in tho wator. I don't know if I blod to doath from tho gunshot wound or drownod.