It's a regrettable fact that people who gravitate toward the morose are associated with a wretched underclass of people. Call them "downers", "goths", "emo kids", or what have you, these people spend an above average time thinking of death and loss.
And what of it? Life is nearly entirely entwined with our relationship to loss.
In his revelatory essay The Secret Life of the Love Song, Nick Cave defines the concept of duende, an overarching feeling of pain that pervades truly great works of art. He explains (quite rightly) that "the love song is never truly happy. It must first embrace the potential for pain." Attendant to any expression of love surely must be the acknowledgement that it will end---either through death itself or the mere vicissitudes of life. (Which of these is more depressing is something I haven't quite decided.) Any work that ignores this is in some sense not reflective of life.
Loss does not make us stronger, and it's wrong to imply that it does. Destruction can be constructive, but most isn't. People who die do not "live on in our hearts". The love they might have had, the endeavors they could have pursued, the joy they might have partaken of is not somehow simulated in our minds because we knew the person. It's innocent but fatuous to insinuate that it does. The loss of a loved one is a loss, full stop.
It's a year since a dear friend of mine died. The thought of him pervades my outlook, as does the loss of my mother. When I'm going, working, doing something, it's drowned out. But when I'm alone, and it's quiet, there they are---but not.
Another friend of mine (still alive!) says that everyone should have a big clock in his house that's counting down the number of seconds until he dies. (Curiously, I don't think I've seen any stores marketing such a thing.) Does the loss of life, even our own, motivate us to become more than we would be otherwise? Perhaps it does. But if that clock gets you off the couch, the thought of it must surely follow you doggedly to your enterprise.
Because of this, I find it hard to separate loss from the human condition in any way. I appreciate accomplishment, intellect, determination, humor, pleasure, caprice, and even recklessness. And I appreciate them all the more for having seen them deprived of those who've died. But duende prevails, doesn't it?