1

Not that you had to mention it. It was what drew him to you in the first place.

Later…older…a dutiful son and grandson, despite the urgings of puberty…you were called to your grandmother's bedside. Her bones were brittle and her breathing shallow. With what she had of her remaining strength, she caressed your face, entreating you to tell her what comes next.

I kissed her eyelids goodbye, and then left. I could not watch my grandmother die.

Holding her hand, I sought to comfort her with distractions. She would find the answer to her questions in moments anyway.

Though I do not believe in an afterlife, I did my best to paint a place free from care.

There is no afterlife, and I would have done both her and myself a disservice if I had pretended otherwise, even while she lay dying.

I told her about the paradise that awaited her. Of course, she may very well have been denied that paradise—as her fate was decided long before she was born—but I lied with conviction to comfort my grandmother on her deathbed.

I told her that God decided long ago whether Heaven was hers to share and that if she had been chosen, then bliss awaited her.

I told her truthfully that she had lived a Godly life and that paradise awaited her.

Next