Everyone dies, but all deaths are not the same, and this one had been shocking in the way that the death of the young always are.

She was one of those vibrant people who change the energy of your house the minute they walk through the door _ our house seems to be still waiting for her visit. She was also beautiful and generous.

For 23 years this girl had been in the thick of life and then she hurtled into a power pole and became a corpse.

It was sudden and it was brutal and it left a hole in a lot of people.

I don't blame the pole. I blame the interfering hand of fate which seems to go about its business without explanation.

The unyielding pole stands all by itself, with about 15 metres of a benign looking fence on either side. That fence would have done its best to cushion the impact.

So why didn't she miss the pole?

It is that concrete post that has been the focus for a family that does not know what to do about that huge hole at its centre. Friends have also taken the time to drive out there to scrawl messages and leave flowers, making the post look a little friendlier.

Now there is a metal heart with the girl's name etched in blue. And a tree planted nearby fertilised with her ashes and which in spring will wear blossoms in her favourite colour.

Poles and trees turned into funeral symbols because they were the unwitting connection points between life and death are a relatively common sight in today's

traditionless world.

I still don't know what to think.

Does death need to be acknowledged at the point where it happened, and if so, for whose benefit?

Or should the dead be grouped together in cemeteries as is still the custom among many? Or should they sit in decorative urns in the lounge room?

I come from a tradition of gravestones and I can understand the need to visit cemeteries and take flowers, bits of birthday cake and beer for the people who don't exist any more.

Ceasing to exist after occupying a certain amount of space for a time is a mysterious and frightening concept and perhaps the reason we want to keep the dead with us for as long as possible - kidding ourselves that they are nearby.

Before the death of this young woman I knew only one other dead person really well - my father.

He was buried in the traditional way but I don't see him lurking about the cemetery awaiting our visits. Neither do I see this young woman sitting under the power pole pondering her death and reading messages from the living.

On one level the dead girl will always be on the point of arrival, her high heels clicking on the concrete on the way to the front door. On another level she is partying somewhere else.

As for my old dad, he is sitting in his armchair at my mum's house. That's why I always say excuse me before I sit down.

violetrose@live.com.au