"As a child I thought if I could touch the sky I could touch the face of God. As a man I learned that all I had to do was touch my own heart"
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Dying

 

Growing up, my extended family owned a small private cemetery. It’s care and upkeep meant a great deal to my aunts and uncles; and it was the focal point of many of their meetings. They would have countless discussions (and sometimes arguments) over how much needed to be spent on maintenance; where people were going to be buried, and (the real biggie) what to do when people married out of the faith. 

 

As a child, it seemed to me that my relatives were more concerned about where to put the bodies of their loved ones, than about coming together for celebrations!   This bugged me no end.  Now that I am as old as they were, I have learned to respect the path that each soul has chosen (and to stay focused on my own). 

 

A few years ago I was asked if I would give up the burial plot that my parents had originally reserved for me next to them  (and which I had not kept the payments up on).  I happily agreed.  You see, although my parents died years ago, I can feel them dancing in my heart as I write these words.  In fact I can swear that Ma is standing right next to me!  I have absolutely no doubt that they are very much alive. (And I really think they are far to busy growing to pay much attention to the condition of their former bodies). Although I wont judge anyone else, I have no interest in where my bones are placed.  When I die, scatter me to the four winds. Let the little birds peck at me. Then I intend to have a rollicking party with the souls of my former friends and loved ones, as the stars sparkle to our laughter.