“I nearly went, but I was afraid. I mean who knows what could have happened. I guess I could still go; it’s going to cost a lot more now though. I don’t know how wise that would be. I love her but she’s so over this.” I spoke to my sleeping grandfather.
His head dropped to the side. I could see his wrinkled face beaming with inspiration. He blinked a few times and then his eyes opened wide. He smiled. I’d never have been so open if I knew he were really awake. How absolutely embarrassing. I wondered what he though of me now. A wimp of a grandchild who’s afraid to do anything. I stopped scolding myself when I heard the croak of his voice. He coughed and I reached for the glass of water that stood by his bed. Once I had given him a drink he began to speak.
“The suffering caused by fear is tumultuous to the living soul. It is like working your fingers to the bone and then beyond, just so that you will not have to have a day of lack or of suffering. And then after some years you are pulled out of work because your mind and your body and your soul are all damaged. Damaged. Suddenly everything you have worked for has to be sold on to afford you a remedy for the damage you have caused. You then lay suffering in lack. Lack of any possessions; lack of any memories.
And then in your last days you’ve no advice to give because you obviously did it wrong and you’ve no profound life experiences to draw upon. Then, although you’ve been dead all throughout your life, you expire. Useless.”
As I stared at him he sank back into his bed, closed his eyes and exited this life. Silence had never been so loud.