Candles were a good metaphor for life. A small, sometimes fragile flame, here for only a brief time. Made one take notice of, an appreciate, the smaller things.

The fact that they can be snuffed out and then re-lit later was even more appropriate.

“You’re not the first person I’ve met who’s alive here when they wouldn’t be somewhere else, but it’s still hard to wrap my head around it.” He apologized. “May I ask what happened?”