They say 'it was his time,' when someone dies. I say that place is more important than time when it comes to death. Accidental death, at least. Yes, time and place conspire for a unique set of circumstances, but place seems more important in the equation.
Place certainly plays an important part in forming us. Not that you can escape from your drives and tendencies, but they can play out differently according to your environment.
I don't find it accidental that California claimed him. His whole pilgrimage to there by train - it's like he reached the end. Yes, I should take him back there so he can continue his journey by sea.
And I have reached the end here. All the pleasures and connections I had found have retreated. My lack of purpose now as a childless mother is multiplied by the fact that I came here for him. And this place took him away from me. It's not an irrational hatred I feel. I don't feel hatred. There are very few things I feel anymore, besides pain. I don't blame the place, but it was instrumental in how things played out. And it unmistakably weighs on me.