The rest is silence.

[ashwednesday]

ROSS: Your castle is surprised; your wife and babes
Savagely slaughter'd: to relate the manner,
Were, on the quarry of these murder'd deer,
To add the death of you.

MALCOLM: Merciful heaven!
What, man! ne'er pull your hat upon your brows;
Give sorrow words: the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break.

MACDUFF: My children too?

ROSS: Wife, children, servants, all
That could be found.

MACDUFF: And I must be from thence!
My wife kill'd too?

ROSS: I have said.

MALCOLM: Be comforted:
Let's make us medicines of our great revenge,
To cure this deadly grief.

MACDUFF: He has no children. All my pretty ones?
Did you say all? O hell-kite! All?
What, all my pretty chickens and their dam
At one fell swoop?


Macbeth, Act IV, Scene III

Is there anything sadder than the death of a child? Perhaps the suicide of his grieving parents. What terrible grief there can be in loving, how quickly can love give way to despair. I wish that Kazumi and Neil Puttick had been able to use their love for each other as a way of riding through the great swell of their grief, that their support of one another could have been a lifeboat, however flimsy. But it seems that all they felt was left was one last and terrible act of togetherness. The rest is silence.