What happens to us after we die? by Daisy Lipenowski

It's a fact. We all die eventually. It is said that next to birth, death is the only sure thing in life. Whoever said that did have a point.

None of us will live infinitely. And in a sense, that's a good thing. When we realize that our time is limited, we have to think about how we spend it. Otherwise we'll wake up as old people one day, our time almost up; and regret our lifes.

As the paragraph before indicates, I don't believe that we will go on after death, in whatever form. I don't believe that death is a gate to either heaven or hell or any otherworldly existence. I don't believe we'll be reborn in another body, be it human or animal. I don't believe we'll become spirits haunting the living or watching over them. I don't believe we'll become little twinkling stars in the sky, looking down on earth; although I have to admit the idea has a certain appeal.

After death, there is nothing. We simply cease to exist. It ends.

On one hand, this idea is terribly frightening. Nothingness is a state we are unable to really comprehend. It is certainly easier to imagine an afterlife. Depending on the individual belief, we would still be able to experience things, or even do something. Especially pleasant afterlife fantasies like paradise are appealing. But all of them were constructed to lessen our fear of death. They can be useful when they provide peace of mind where otherwise there would be constant fear. But they can be equally harmful when they promise a life better than the one we have and allow us to see suicide as a shortcut to get there.

On the other hand, it can be a relief that there is nothing after death. Because not only will we cease to experience the good things, but also the bad things. We won't have to struggle anymore. We won't have to experience the punishments negative afterlife scenarios like hell hold in store for us. We will never again be afraid or concerned or panicky.

The only thing living on after death is our part of other people's memories. And our life is the only time when we can influence how we live there. The way we live our life determines how we live on in people's mind after we die. In a sense, we create our own afterlife.

David put down Daisy's essay. Everything she wrote was thought through and made sense. His memories of his father weren't very good, but he felt that Daisy wasn't writing about that. In this rare intuitive moment he sensed that she meant his life; that she wanted to make him think about his actions in light of the memories they would produce.

If anyone told him this, he'd just laugh sarcastically; but secretly he was flattered that Daisy had written her essay especially for him. He really had appreciated her support the day before, although he'd never admit that. Undeterred by his attitude as she was, she really got to him. It was kind of strange; the many aspects in which they were different, even opposites.

Outwardly, he was more childlike than would be expected in his age, whereas Daisy seemed much more mature. She always seemed to stand above his jokes and pranks, but unlike the others she also didn't react with resentment.

She seemed to know that his pranks, his sarcastic comments, his attitude were barely more than a façade, a mask. Admittedly, it was a mask that he had worn for a very long time. Such along time, in fact, that it had become part of him. That it was close to impossible to say where the mask ended and his face began. But there was a face behind the mask. They had not yet become one; and he doubted they ever would. But his face had been hidden behind the mask for so long, it had become vulnerable to the outside world. He didn't remember which country it was where women wore an increasing number of rings around their necks to stretch them. But he knew that after years of doing that, they couldn't live without the rings, their necks would break.

It was like that for his face. He couldn't, wouldn't leave it unprotected.

That, as far as Daisy was concerned, his mask was made of glass, created ambiguous feelings. It unnerved him, he felt exposed. But unexpectedly, there also was a tiny sense of relief. Relief, that someone else knew the 'real' him. It felt like he didn't have to carry as heavy a weight anymore.

Sighing, he returned to the pile of essays. Daisy's was the last he had read. The others all were interesting to varying degrees, but hers was the only one that really touched him.

David hoped that he wouldn't have to talk about all of this with Peter. Talking with Daisy had helped, but Peter always was so demanding. With Daisy he knew that she wouldn't press him if he didn't want to talk, but with Peter . . . therapy could really be a pain in the ass.

Right on cue, Peter stuck his head into the room David was in.

"Hey, are you done reading?"

David contemplated lying, but decided to tell the truth. "Yeah. Very interesting." Careful to not let any emotion into his voice.

"Are you ready to talk about it?"

There he goes again. David felt all his defenses going up. He stared at the wall and said nothing.

"David?", Peter probed.

"Peter.", came David's now exasperated voice. "I talked . . . at length . . . with Daisy yesterday. She's no certified counselor, but she gave me some things to think about. I'm working things out in my head. I really don't need to talk about any of it . . . with you . . . right now."

To his immense surprise, Peter nodded slowly. "I'll leave you alone then." What David didn't know was that his words had reminded Peter of what Carla had said to him not so long ago, that talking wasn't a cure-it-all. It was a hard thought for him to grasp, all his experience as a counselor circled around talking as a first step in getting over things. But he had the nagging feeling that maybe he should be a bit less aggressive in his approach; that maybe he should still focus on talking it out, put not to push the kids, to allow them their own pace.

On his way back to his office, Peter decided to think about it some more and discuss it with Sophie.

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Back in his office, Peter realized that he had neglected to open his regular mail for at least two days and it had grown into a substantial pile. So he sat down to work on it. The letters of application he set aside, he would need more time to deal with them. The bills he sorted into another pile. Finally, he came across a letter from his insurance company. That was puzzling because he already had the insurance bill sitting on his desk.

Curious, he opened the letter and began to read. After a few minutes, his hands fell on the desk and he sighed warily. What he had just read meant a lot of work for him during summer break and a lot of changes for horizon. He wondered just how these companies determined what was a liability but ultimately decided it wasn't worth a lot of thought. After all, bureaucracies were seldom completely logical.

Another thing to discuss with Sophie.