I can remember my gramma, my mother's mother, as she patted my hand the day she turned 90.
"I am ready to go, dear," she said in her soft and slightly wheezy voice. "I've had a good life. I want to rest."
"But I am not ready," I told her as I turned my head to hide my tears.
How selfish of me, to hold onto someone who was suffering, and who looked forward to a long rest, all because *I* was not ready.
Death is so final. I want to believe that there is life after death. I've been brought up all my life to believe this is so, that if we try to make a good difference in our lives and those around us when we live, we go to a better place after we die.
Is it true? Or do we just... die and life continues without us? Who will take care of those we love after we pass on?
I will never know the answers to these questions.
That is, until it is my time...
1 comment:
Takhara:About 5 years behind, my Mother with 76 years of age was suddenly ill and went interned in the hospital. It was operated and during 3 weeks everything led to believe that it would go to recoup and to return the house. In the eve of its death, I stows to speak with her and its disposal was good. Still today I feel that it must not have left for the eternity, but keep for me its memory and thus the loss feeling is attenuated, understands? Feel the joie of living everyday in earth and try be happy!
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