in search of heaven

​

June 7, 2020 [Modified September 24, 2022]

​

 

No. It can't be. Sorry, couldn't be; past tense was still hard to reconcile with when it came to her. It's funny because she always had this strange obsession with Heaven. And now that the seed of belief was planted in his head... no wait. That's not right. She didn't plant the idea so much as plow through the whole field by reiterating it over and over again, which only reaffirmed his stubborn atheist mind. Heaven is not real. 

 

But now that he stood in her shoes, those tight clogs that held his toes in a choke-hold, it was as if he was rooting himself in her being, her mind, her existence. She couldn't immortalize until she was in Heaven because people thought about Heaven, which in turn preserved the spirit of all those in there... which meant that she could still live on. Banksy had said that you die twice. One time when you stop breathing and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time. "Jo." Her name slipped out subconsciously, and then he was on the ground, sobbing. Jo. Jo. JO. 

 

In so many religions, afterlife is believed to be the purpose of life. Why were people so obsessed with an afterlife? Was this life not good enough? Was that what she thought when she took her final steps down the tunnel, wrung her neck around a noose that was too damn tight, and kicked aside the last platform that afforded her stability? He had married a reader, and readers couldn't settle for unanswered questions. She'd left because she needed to confirm that Heaven was real.