Death is only the Beginning.

Another year...another birthday. 22. It's interesting; I feel no different...as happens most birthdays; yet people see me differently, tell me I'm growing, changing, etc. I sometimes wish I could expel myself from my own body so that I could see the changes that people claim they see. It's 1:16am. I've been dealing with a hectic life lately.
No job.
No love life.
No direction.
No clue.
I suppose they don't give you any of those when you graduate do they? No. They won't.

My great uncle died a week ago. His grave-side service was today. I cried. A lot. It was strange though. It wasn't his death, the service or anything that got to me.
It was two things:
1. Seeing my Grandfather cry and then approach me to ask me to write a similar sentimental walk down memory lane for him at his funeral & 2. Not knowing how to deal with death. Being afraid of it. Not knowing 'what's out there'. The mystery of it all scares the shit out of me.

The service was beautiful. The flowers gorgeous, the family smiling their best. I felt bad I couldn't remember what Uncle Lendon had looked like until we got little cards with his picture and a poem on the back. I saw family I hadn't seen in a while, cried tears I'd been holding back for a month and really thought long and hard about life and death.

I've never known how I would deal with death until today. A man I didn't really know, except for memories that my mother poured onto me throughout the day about how much she liked him and how wonderful he was, was the reason and the light that I've been needing to see to help me deal with my Grandpa's imminent death.

Death saves. I've never really believed in God. Never really had a reason to. He took so much from me, and my loved ones, I refused to believe in Him. I never saw the light at the end of the tunnel, and never thought that Heaven waited for all people. Little things would enlighten me that there was something after we leave this Earth. The white tulip on Uncle Tommy's funeral day; my mother talking to her father; the absence of the rain we were supposed to get today (yesterday). It makes me wonder and question my faith, or lack thereof.

Life goes on. My mum is right when she talks about the memories. We make them, share them, revel in them and most of all remember them. That's what makes them memorable; the fact that we can keep them for years and always look back and remember the laughter, fun and joy we felt making them. I hope that other members of my family will eventually see the light and come over into that belief.

You can't buy love, happiness, or memories. They come with a price yes, but they are things that keep us sane, healthy and smiling.