The Book Thief post 4

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Okay, I wrote too much on the last post....
Sorry, people.
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Now I am running out of things to write about...
...Crap.

oh.
Oooohhhhh.

As I promised, a little bit on how Death, being the narrator, affected the book.

"Still, it's possible that you might be asking, why does he even need a vacation? What does he need distraction from?
Which brings me to my next point.
It's the leftover humans.
The survivors.
They're the ones I can't stand to look at, although on many occasions I still fail. I deliberately seek out the colors to keep my mind off them, but now and then, I witness the ones who are left behind, crumbling among the jigsaw puzzle of realization, despair, and surprise. They have punctured hearts. They have beaten lungs.
Which in turn brings me to the subject I am telling you about tonight, or today, or whatever the hour and color. It's the story of one of those perpetual survivors--an expert at being left behind."

If that explains anything at all.
I sincerely hope that serves you well.

Anyways, directed from that quote, I have a question: Is it really fortunate to be the survivor, or, being the one that was left behind?

During the war, everyone was trying to survive. And many, with the difficult situation, began to do whatever they can to live.

"'And what are you planning to steal?'
He shrugged. 'Money, food, jewelry. Whatever I can get my hands on.' It sounded simple enough."

After the war, people grieved over their losses, and moved on. Some, however, lived in their agony and never survived.

In other words, the people who did not survive were privileged. Because they did not survive, they did not have to face the pain of feeling lives slipping off between their fingers. Because they did not survive, they did not have to face the reality where all their families had perished.
Because they did not survive, they did not have to face the world.
And that was the reason, I guess, why Hitler committed suicide, along with his family, when the war was coming to an end.
People who lived, could not necessarily move on. They were tagged as the survivor of Holocaust, the survivor of the bombing, or, in some cases, the director of the genocide or the source of all wrong-doing.
All these tags reminded them of their misfortune, their losses, and their painful memory.
Perhaps, like Dede in In the Time of the Butterflies, they were the ones who were designated to tell the stories.