To see with eyes unclouded by life.

I wonder what the other side is like. I've always been curious, but unsure if it even existed. Unsure if it was even the right question. In the end, it seemed like a useless thought. I can never know what death and the afterlife is, until it happens, and then I won't wonder. As soon as the question matters, it will be answered. And, satisfied with the koan-like self-completion of that thought, I moved on.

But now, well, I know someone who knows. Someone who I have always been able to talk to about anything. Someone who would let me discuss such existential questions, and who would respond very thoughtfully. I have never not been able to say to my dad "what was that weird thing like?". So I feel like I should, now, too. I feel like my ear is pressed up against the wall between here and that next plane of existence. Like I've been walking alongside someone, and we're both alongside a big lake, and when they suddenly got pulled into that lake, and they're underneath it now... that maybe I instinctively reached after them, and my hand got wet. I know I'm not to go swimming yet... but I'm standing here, in the sudden silence, looking at a wet hand.

Is it wonderful over there? Not for me--not yet. For you. Are you having an amazing time? Do you even define "amazing" the same way? I figure "time" means very little to you now. Are you still an individual, or have you become water in that silent lake? Are you aware I'm writing to you, and thinking to you... or does my "too little too late" love get across the air waves?

Dad was a very profound person, but it was always in a prepared, professorial way. I get the feeling he's like a little kid again, right now... and I'd love to see that.