Life: An end or a continuum.

I'd love to have conversations. With my dead parents. So that I could learn. More about what made them tick. Maybe it's never too late.  That is. If they are still living. As spirits. That would be a nice format for life. To be able. Some day. To commune. In a spiritual realm. Able to ask questions. That I never asked. When they were living. Chances are. If I had asked. They might not have answered. Because it was too personal. But really, that's what life should be. A sharing of the very personal. Otherwise, we don't get to know each other. I have many friends and acquaintances that I probably barely know. Because they hide behind masks. Anyway, my father reached the point of not wanting to live. He committed suicide. A long time ago. When I was only 13. He was 38. I'd ask him. What were you feeling? On that last day? What put you over the edge?  And did you live reasonably happy most of your life? If so, what went wrong? As for my mother. She lived to 88. And I suspect she wanted to die. Because she despised the infirmities of old age. Didn't want to be a burden. So she surrendered. Simply decided it was time to die. After a reasonably happy life. Don't know if mom or dad had any inkling. That maybe death was a new beginning. Sort of a continuation of life. In a different form. --Jim Broede