Many People Die at a Young Age, While They Are Buried Many Years Later

A Letter from my grandfather

As painful as it was, my grandfather’s death, in effect, gave my life a new meaning, somehow helping me morph into a completely new person.

He passed away in 1992 while asleep in my aunt’s house. He was 73. A couple of days before his death, I visited him in his apple orchard. We were together the whole day, talked about this and that, had tea and laughed. He looked quite healthy, like always.

He asked me to stay for supper, which I declined since I had an important test the following day and had promised a friend of mine to study together. Anyway, I hugged him goodbye, like I always did. This hug was a bit different though. He pressed me so hard I could feel his heart beating and didn’t let go of me for a couple of minutes.

‘We’ll meet again. I don’t know when, but we will.’ That’s what he whispered to my ears. It was strange because we often visited each other a couple of times each week.

‘Sure, we will. I’ll be back to see you soon, grandpa.’ I said. He didn’t say anything. He just waved me goodbye.

It was early in the morning when the phone rang. My mom picked up. It was my uncle. I was somehow feeling something bad had happened. My mom sat on the floor crying, with the receiver in her hand. He hung up and said, ‘We need to go to grandpa’s’.

‘Why are you crying, mom?’ I asked. ‘Is grandpa alright?’

‘Yeah, he is. He’s just a little sick. Yeah, nothing to worry about.’ My mom said.

‘He’s dead. I know.’ I said and ran to my bedroom. I could hear my mom crying heavily.

We were there by noon. Hundreds of people had gathered, most of whom were crying. He was a well-known and highly respected man in the neighborhood.

I couldn’t tell who was the saddest, but I didn’t stay there. I went to his apple orchard. Now it had taken me around 10 hours or so before I let myself cry. I burst into tears the moment I got there, shouting, ‘Grandpa, grandpa, grandpa.’ I don’t know how long passed, but I cried for hours there, maybe under all the trees, with all the flowers and birds there. I ran the walking trail — where we would go and talk- up and down so many times, crying. I could see him everywhere. Still, he wasn’t there. I was devastated. Life was literally over for me.

We buried him the following day and thousands of people attended his funeral. The whole city was there. Relatives, neighbors, many government officials and employees, people I’d never seen in my life, even people from other cities.

I went into a deep depression. I’d experienced such moments before but it was a whole new level of sadness and meaninglessness. I spent most of my days in his orchards — he had two of them. Like my grandfather, I talked to the trees and plants, birds, butterflies and ants. I told them how much I missed the man.

A couple of days after the funeral, I was sitting under a tree, thinking about all the beautiful moments my grandfather and I had spent together when I heard my uncle crying my name.

‘Hey. You’re here.’ He said while approaching me.

‘Hi, uncle Ebi.’ I said.

He opened his arms, and we hugged each other. My uncle was a great man, like my grandfather — well-dressed, sweet-tempered, strong, wise. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, after all.

We talked a little about grandpa. He said he knew how dependent I was on him and how hard it was for me to believe he was gone and wanted me to be strong and patient. He then gave me something — a letter from my grandpa. He kissed me on the head and left.

I immediate opened the envelop and started reading. It said:

My dearest Allen,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone. In case you’re worried about me, well I have to say It’s fine with me. Come on! lighten up and smile, sweetheart. I know you’ve been crying over my death. That’s enough.

I’m writing since you’re the only one I’m worried about. I led a beautiful long life, long enough to see the ups and downs of this transient world and long enough to experience fabulous things — both sad and happy.

Have you noticed? Almost all things in this world are paired: Man and woman, day and night, light and darkness, happiness and sadness, you name it, and that’s the beauty of life. The same is true for life and death. We’re born some day and die another day. However, as in the case of day and night, there’s death after life and life after death. It’s a sequence, so in a sense, I’m not dead.

I’m making you mixed-up, like I always did when I told you stories. Sorry for that, but It’s true. We die, but we’ll be born again. Somehow, you are the rebirth of other things before you. So was I. I’m telling you this because I want you to know that I’m alive and never die, son.

You just have to look around. You’ll see me in trees and flowers we planted, watered and pruned together. But there is such a thing as real death.

People die long before the leave this world. They die a hundred times, if not more, before they actually cease to exist physically. They die in heart and mind, son.

People die when they stop loving. Love is the magical essence of life. Love is an umbrella term, covering a whole gamut of experiences. Love for life, love for humanity, love for oneself, love for animals, love for nature, even love for problems and challenges in life — love for everyone and everything around you. Love yourself and others, and you’ll never die.

People die when they stop giving. With love comes generosity and sacrifice, and that means willingness to give without expecting anything in return. Giving your smile, your helping hand, your time, your money, your soul to those you love. Some people always expect to receive something form others as if they are entitled to everything out there. Give for free and you’ll never see the shadow of death.

People die when they stop dreaming. Man’s progress in everything is rooted in his dreams for better things. If man had stopped dreaming, life would’ve ceased millions of years ago. Keep dreaming for things you want, and death will never knock at your door.

People die when they stop hoping. People dream for better things and when they fail to fulfill them, they start complaining and feeling hopeless. They give up on their dreams in the face of hardship. What can save them is hope. Hopeless people are dead bodies wondering around. Always hope for the best, and you shall be immortal.

People die when they stop trying. With hope comes trying. When you believe you can change the situation for the better, you start working hard for it. And that’s the only secret to success. Fight your way through, and live forever.

Remember, son. Many people die at a young age, while they are buried many years later.

I tried my best not to die young. I loved life and everything about it. I gave and never looked for the reward. I dreamed high and hoped for the best, though I always planned for the worst. I never gave up trying for what I’d dreamed for.

It’s your life. Live it well, son. Don’t commit suicide in your heart, mind or soul.

I’m not going to say goodbye. We’ll meet again. I don’t know when, but we will.

Cheer up. Love, Grandpa