My grandfather has a plastic tube draped around his face, tucked under his nose.  He carries around a shoulder bag with a metal tank full of oxygen in it.  He had a heart attack that took away his legs for a couple of days, that led him to to his girlfriend that he was going to die. 

But he got better. 

Going to see him was strange.  We went to a buffet restaurant and sat and talked.  He took us to his mobile home and we chatted for a while.  He met my brother's girlfriend for the first time.  We got together for some breakfast the next morning.  His health isn't good.  No one was saying it, but everyone was thinking that this might be the last time we see him. 

My mom is holding up.  She's worried, scared.  She loves her father and she sees him diminished and she's trying.  We sat outside for a minute and smoked cigarettes and talked.  She seems to be getting ready for it, but she knows that you can't ever be ready. 

I've never really thought about what comes next.  You know, next.  After this life.  I don't have a very big family, at least not here in the states, and what few distant relatives do live out here, most of them died when I was very young.  So, while I may have occasionally thought about the afterlife, it's never been something that I really mulled over and formed my opinion on. 

Times they are a-changing.