With the recent death of Billy Graham, I’ve been thinking
about what happens when you die. Not
really in that deep, philosophical way of where you go, but what process do you choose or is chosen for you? Are you laid to rest in an ornate coffin with
friends and family weeping over you? Are you cremated with your ashes thrown in
the ocean or left sitting in an attractive urn on your family’s mantel?
My Grandpa Reed was a no-nonsense man. He was a pragmatist. He
was of Dutch ancestry and lived his life in a straight forward path, never veering
off that because that was not what a good man did. My Grandpa was the kindest and most
intelligent man I’ve known. He was,
however, a true pragmatist. When my
mother was a young girl she had the usual curiosity of a child of that age. One
day she asked my Grandpa what happens when you die. I’m uncertain if she meant, “Is there a Heaven
or a Hell and what do you do or not do to get there?” Regardless, this was his
reply: “I think they just throw you in a pine box.” Always the pragmatist…
