Death. Död. Fallecido. Passed away. The final curtain. However you phrase it, in which ever language you use, the words have an abrupt certitude which leaves no need for further definition. Mostly our somber relationship with death is attributed to people or pets. We bury or burn, and gather to farewell. But many deaths don’t receive such attention and when a language dies, only language aficionados gather in black.
As of right now 424 languages have died. Words used by people, families, and towns, totally gone and no longer represented on earth. UNESCO list Maori as vulnerable and while we appear to be at the start of a crusade to grow the language again, it’s a worry just to be on the dreaded list.
As the world becomes more connected our need for efficiency drives us to find common forms of communication. In 1992 a prominent US linguist stunned the academic world by predicting that by the year 2100, 90% of the world’s languages would have ceased to exist.
In 2011, the last two fluent speakers of the language Ayapaneco, a language in Mexico, were no longer speaking to each other. How precarious to have the fate of a language rest upon two warring Grandmothers.
Prominent French linguist Claude Hagege says we lose cultural heritage once a language dies, “It’s also the way they express their humour, their love, their life. It is a testimony of human communities which is extremely precious, because it expresses what other communities than ours in the modern industrialized world are able to express.”
When a language is lost, it’s not just the words spoken that are gone. We lose Dad’s corny jokes or Mum’s caring instructions. It represents our human history which we learn so much from.
Te Reo me this... 
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