By the highway on my way to work, I pass a small cemetery for the Cook Family. A cement wall encloses it, but the grave markers are in some disrepair.
Every day I am reminded of my own mortality, and the mortality of all of us. We care for our dead with the best intentions, but we will eventually fail. Memories fade, generations pass, and the dead belong to eternity.
When we think of ancestors, we seldom consider that we have ancestors that would seem very strange to us. Some walked on two legs, some four, and some crawled or swam or just oozed. The common thread, aside from genetics, is a desire to survive and reproduce. It is strange to me to think that I have no genetic descendants.
I have no part to play in the future of humanity.
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