All things age. All things die. In the end, our sun burns out. Our universe grows cold and perishes. But the Dark Dimension, it’s the place beyond time.
Do not go gentle into that good night; Old age should burn and rave at close of day. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.[“Do not go gentle into that good night” by Dylan Thomas]
Why is grief the providence of youth? I don’t know. But I’d imagine that age deepens all feelings. Including grief.