My bloodshot eyes, brimmed with tears, scanned the room. Something was missing– laughter; Someone was missing– my grandparents.
The funeral was over. In that occasion, I faked laughter. I faked a smile that did not reach my heart. I displayed dance moves to fake my joy. Moves I know I will regret in the future. Far worst than the famous chicken dance.
I glanced up at the bulb that was now dim. It also misses my granddad. I could remember how he would sluggish climb a stool to change it. I also took note that the air in the room was too pure. It was missing something– the sweet aroma of my grandma's native soup. The couch looked too deserted and cold. It was missing someone. My grandparents haven't sat there in a while.
Life and death is something I'm yet to comprehend. I recalled how I weakly said "Rest in peace" at their burial. A question hovered in my heart and I fought every moment to push it down. As I sat on the floor scanning the room, the question sprang up again.
"Heaven or hell? Where do you think they are going?"
Can a broken heart break again? I can't begin to describe the cold shiver that ran down my spine nor the rate at which my tears stream down my cheek. I pray to live long. Not all do. I'm not a judge. I can't tell where my grandparents will go but as long as I'm breathing, I have a choice to make. As long as my heart pumps, I can make a change. And that's why I kneel and give my life to Christ. It's because I have a freedom of choice and I want to choose God. I want to choose eternal life.
Dear Diary, I want the best path and that path is God. He loves me more than any man can describe. Choose God know that you are alive.
Thanks for reading. God bless you 🤸💃💃😏❤️
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