Actually, I have no idea what will happen to us after we die and neither do you. Like most, I never spent too much time pondering this unsolved mystery for the living when I was younger, but now that I’m inching closer to my mortality — it’s basically all I think about.
Especially now that my parents are much older and rapidly losing relatives and friends in their age range. We recently just got another phone call that bore the news of another departed soul, which as usual was a total shock since we weren’t privy to the behind-the-scenes chaos that led to the announcement.
I spent the rest of that morning in deep conversation with my mother as we exchanged theories about life after death.
Both my parents are quite religious, even though my father found his epiphany later in life, which is a testament to the vulnerability we embrace when our physical prowess begins to wane beyond repair. There’s nothing more humbling than accommodating the systematic breakdown of all the connectors that once allowed you to be effortlessly unstoppable.
Even at my age — I’ve begun to bear the consequences of wear and tear as my knees swell up with pain and my eyesight signals more trouble on the way.
