[Sometime back in May]
Sometimes a train passes through, my father says, and suddenly you find out it's your train.
Turn the tables, wind the clocks, and we're not talking about good fortune anymore. Now we're talking simply about destinations. The idea that you're not waiting around for opportunity or that bit of luck you've dreamt about. That you're simply waiting to be carried off to the next place. If you strike it rich, is it really that you're lucky? Blessed? Or are you just on your way to wherever you were supposed to be next? And maybe death not really the end, but just another stop on the way to whatever is still ahead? Suddenly it's not so much just a ride to a temporary fortune or misfortune as it is an inevitable passage forward, and finally everything along the way matters more.
Is there a place after this? My grandmother asks.
Yes, there is, my father says.
Let's not talk about what we believe to be real tonight. One day we'll be old, and things that we thought were important won't be anymore.
A man sits beside his mother's bed.
He tells her there is a place after death:
whether it is called "Heaven" is uncertain.
Above all, God tells us, love one another deeply.