Not long after Margret died, I was talking to a young man of my acquaintance. He said he was sorry for my loss.
Then he thought for a bit, sizing me up, and said I was going to think he was a bad person, but if it were him, he would be rejoicing at being released from the equivalent of a prison sentence.
It's just a matter of perspective.
I don't think he's a bad person, just deprived of the right perspective. All he could see is the down side. Only having met Margret briefly, and on a day when she wasn't feeling up to her usual cheer, he couldn't know the up side.
I knew how loving Margret was, how empathetic. He never had a day with her when she was about four years old as I did. I was sad about something, and she came over and hugged me, and laid her head on my lap. She let me know that whatever was wrong, she was there for me, and loved me. I had not said a word about the wrong thing, I was not crying, she just knew, and wanted to make it right as best she could.
He never knew how strongly she cared about her sisters, and how much they cared about her. Or how loyal she was to her friends.
It's his loss.