On the Certainty of No Thing

Earlier I found out that someone died this morning.
Someone I knew.

Someone I last saw one week ago. [is dead]
Someone who was serious about visiting my cabin. [is dead]

Someone whose voicemail I have from this month. [is dead]
Someone whose last email came at 10:47 last night. [is dead]

Someone who was always around to offer help. [is dead]
Someone I've only seen annually with intent to see again. [is dead]

Someone who pulled strings to get me on a guestlist I skipped. [is dead]
Someone who tried to bypass rules to make sure my requests were met. [is dead]

Someone who was happy to see me and who I made laugh. [is dead]
Someone who felt like a comrade, dependable, trusted. [is dead]

Someone who was my contemporary is dead.

Someone barely older than me is dead.

This is the second time in two weeks I have found out about the death of someone who was my contemporary. Someone barely older than me. Someone I knew.

They're dead and do they know they're dead and that I know this?
Do they know I have found out because I am still alive?

How does their infinite stasis in memoriam now translate to the present?
Is it the present tense to be dead?

Is it the Simple Present or Present Continuous or Present Perfect or Present Perfect Continuous to be dead?

Does the tense of the result change if the event was random? If violent and senseless?

How does one count random?
How does one measure grief as overwhelming?

Am I still contemporaries with the dead?
Would they say I am contemporary because I am still mortal or that I am only temporary because I am still mortal? ("I am" as Simple Present or me as Present Continuous?)

Logic is indiscriminate; how random it is that we are and then we are not.
Entropy is deranged; how logical is my devastation at surprise.

One friend tells me, "The Universe wants everything to work out for you. The Universe wants for you."

But whose Universe?
Who is Universe?

The Universe is not my contemporary.
The Universe is not someone that I know.