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The Finality of Death


When I was just around the age of five or six years old I attended my first funeral. They have since become something that I am used to, but this first time was something that was very memorable for me.


I remember standing there, barely able to see into the coffin, and thinking to myself how strange it was that everyone was so sad over one person sleeping, and yet wondering to myself how he was able to sleep in the midst of all the hubbub.


As I stood there next to this corpse, I decided that I was going to get everyone to stop crying and being sad by waking him up. So I began to shake this dead body that was lying before me. Once my dad saw what was going on he quickly snagged hold of me and brought me to the waiting room of the funeral home to explain what death was. I remember that it was a tough concept for me to wrap my mind around, but once I began to understand what he meant it rocked my world. I began to feel a sense of finality in this life.