I visited my mom's father, my grandfather, at the nursing home today. He has Parkinson's Disease, I believe. He's in one of the final stages, he already lost his ability to walk, to eat, to move his hands, and now he's starting to lose his ability to breathe. It was emotional. It made me wonder why people must go through pain, and how people can still call that living. If I ever became like that, I would tell them to kill me. The worst part is, he hasn't lost his intellectual mind, but he cannot speak well. What I felt... can't be described in words very well. My father's father passed away three years ago, because of cancer that 'took a turn for the worse'. I knew him better, and it hurt. When you realize that someone is going to die, or they're rotting away, it hurts when you know that they have to experience this pain while you're still happily living life. My uncle said it was like he had went through a cycle of life; at first, as a baby, you can't talk or anything and you sleep all day. Then you begin to develop. It's like my grandfather has went back to the first stage, yet he has no womb.
I passed by the church in the nursing home. To me, it looked like Jesus was the God of Death, his hand outstretched, welcoming people to hell.
We see the world through a clouded glass, full of stains and shifts.
We live not to die, yet die, for life.
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