So we name a king: a madman charged with the protection of all that is, of all that we have and are. We may venerate this king, we may curse him, we may ignore him outright, but there is always a name.
Madness string 3253
You don't notice the dead leaving when they really choose to leave you. You're not meant to. At most you feel them as a whisper or the wave of a whisper undulating down. I would compare it to a woman in the back of a lecture hall or theatre whom no one notices until she slips out. Then only those near the door themselves, like Grandma Lynn, notice; to the rest it is like an unexplained breeze in a closed room.