John Donne's sonnet Death, Be Not Proud is a reflection on mortality, presenting an argument against the power of death. Addressing Death as a person, the speaker warns Death against pride in his power. Such power is merely an illusion, and the end Death thinks it brings to men and women is in fact a rest from the world-weariness of its alleged "victims." The speaker further deflates Death's ego by calling it a "slave," beholden to such lowly, despicable earthly things -- like the things chronicled in our focus article How Not To Dig Your Own Grave, reflections on mortality by a human identification expert.

The author chose her career out of some uneasy feeling she should do something significant in her life. Her choice provided access to the endlessly fascinating hidden corners of America. She became an advocate for the voiceless, the dead. It’s up to you to decide whether all of that is something significant.

After fifteen years she echoed the sentiment of the speaker in Donne's sonnet -- a sense of relief for the victims, whether they be Bosnian war dead, the homeless, crime statistics of all ages and social standing, or even the specimens of her first encounter as a 22-year-old graduate student practicing a niche forensic discipline called Forensic Archaeological Science – applying the scientific rigor of archeology to crime scene work.

She adopted a certain detached nonchalant attitude towards her work, reflecting something less a sociopathic superpower than a simple acknowledgement of death’s reality. She wishes she knew then what she knows now – that what we fear isn’t what we should fear i.e. you’re not as alone or beyond repair as you think. Even as the hidden scale of depression, suicide, and drug overdoses in community may be shocking, as long as you are breathing then it’s not too late.

Nonetheless her work eventually took its toll as her drinking caused her enough concern that she left the field entirely. She became a writer and moved to Costa Rica.

“You can bury me here.”