Death

The kids' grandpa died, and they went to the funeral. They came back sobered somehow, less fluffy.

A friend came into the shop yesterday, and closed with, "My girlfriend died. Three weeks ago. She was climbing into bed, had a massive brain hemmorhage and died right there in front of me."

I don't know what I believe about life after death. I have a pretty clear picture of us up to that point: we are born and start dying from that moment, while we have a life. Or maybe mid-life is the point where we start the trajectory more toward death than toward life? See, even that I don't really know as a certainty. It's pretty certain, however, that at some point, our bodies end. Their existence in the form we know it ceases and these bodies become a form of dirt.

I don't mind this body becoming dirt. It'll be weird to do it all of a sudden. I'm accustomed to taking in cows and plants, and exchanging accidental dirt, eliminating dirt; I'm accustomed to exchanging molecules with the air. But who is the I in all these exchanges? Is it more than my body that is I?