The End... or is it?

As children, we are all protected from the cruelty and finality that is death. If all death has ever meant to you is grown-ups dressing up in white and disappearing for an hour or two, it comes as a bit of a shock when you are forced to deal with another aspect of it - the non-existance of the person. And the reality check is even harder when it comes in the face of your mother's death. So much so, that my mind decided to not deal with it.

At seventeen, as my mom's death caused the world around me to change, it suddenly became infinitely easy to believe in a heaven. Infact, it became pretty much impossible to disbelieve in it. There seemed something intrinsically wrong about a world in which she did not exist. She had to be out there, somewhere. She has to be.

It cannot be the end.