One of the hardest things we can do is release people so we love to death. The following story may help.
In the period before the aircraft are reliable, most people traveling from continent to continent with large passenger ships across the ocean. When the ship was about to sail, passengers will line up on the boat deck, on the side of the pier where their families and friends stood.
When the siren sounds signaling vapor departure, they were on the boat and they were on the dock waving, giving a kiss from afar, and shouted goodbyes while the boat slowly pulled away. Soon, the ship was too far away for those who are in the dock to distinguish anyone in the ranks of the passengers were still standing on the deck, but they still waved and looked.
A few minutes later, the boat was even too far away to see the crowd of passengers, yet still people who love to remain in the dock staring at the ship increasingly wither away, where their loved ones are.
Then the ship will reach a boundary line the horizon, then disappeared altogether. However, although family and friends in the mainland can not see their loved ones again, let alone talk to or touch them, they know that their loved ones do not disappear completely. They just went across a line, the horizon, which separates us from the distant there. They knew that they would meet again.
The same thing can be said when someone we love dies. If we are lucky, we are at the bedside them, hug them, and say goodbye last. Then they sail into the open sea, which is death. They fade from us.
In the end, they reached the horizon, a boundary line that separates life with that out there. Once they crossed the line, we could not see them again, let alone talk to or touch them, but we know that they have not disappeared altogether.
They just pass a line, death, which separates us from the outside. We will meet each other again.