Death to a Perspectivist can take many forms. This is what it looks like for Jack.

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Many mourn with tears upon death, focusing on the absence of the individual life-force. I consider death no more than the end of a book I’m part of. They’ve moved out of this three dimensional plain and are off to bigger and better things elsewhere in transcendent reality. In seeing it this way I forget about the absence. It’s like a friend moving away too far to communicate with in any feasible way. They’re just somewhere I can’t reach is all. Thus I remember the good times spent with the individual. It’s all there is left to do. The tears won’t bring anyone back or fix any personal problems I might be having. But I can enjoy what was and consider the death a completion of a unique book. I get to revisit the pages as often as I’d like.