The dead are always there, but the brightness of life obscures our perception of them. We don’t forget, but they are on the periphery of our consciousness – life takes our focus in so many other directions.
But then darkness comes, and the dead come to mind. Memories arise again and again.
In the darkness we recognise the dead are here, and that our lives are lived until the time we join them.
And until the time when death is abolished.
We are surrounded by death. As we walk through the grasslands of life it lurks everywhere – behind, to the left, to the right, ahead, everywhere in the swaying grass. Before, I saw it only here and there. The light was too bright. Here in this dim light the dead show up: teachers, colleagues, the children of friends, aunts, uncles, mother, father, the composers whose music I hear, the philosophers whose texts I read, the carpenters whose houses I live in. All around me are the traces and memories of the dead. We live among the dead, until we join them.
Nicholas Wolterstorff, Lament For A Son, Spire 1989, pg. 79
mgpcpastor's blog 
Very true but good friends and our Saviour help us through.