Death as Struggle

We return to our personal city of the dead. A scrim of snow and ice covers the ground, crackling underfoot. A severe wind sweeps down from the north, driving speckles of ice against every portion of exposes flesh. The cold of the wind bites to the bone. Undaunted, we plunge forward until we come to a striking monument. Larger than life, this masterwork in marble crouches upon a family tomb, wrapped in draperies that completely obscure it's intended sex.
The weathering of this sculpture has lent portions of it an almost fractured appearance, like the crackleur effect on certain paintings. This crackled effect only serves to heighten the inherent tension of the sculpture. The figure, whose ambiguous features could belong to a woman just as easily as to a man, leans forward, clutching it's head in profound thought. Its neck seems bent beneath the weight of the entire world.
In this statue, we encounter a figure who seems deeply troubled. Anxiety, not sorrow, is the most significant emotion carved into its features or the lines of its limbs. Here we see death as a struggle-possibly for the deceased him~or herself, but certainly for the friends and family left behind. The process of dying is hard on everyone, especially if death is the result of a long illness or extensive old age. This statue eloquently captures the struggle one must endure, the nagging questions that plague us as the end approaches. Is life really worth all the heartache and pain? Do the joys and accomplishments balance out against this kind of suffering? Why are we born if it is our ultimate destiny to die?