When I was little my mother told me that when we die, we come back as a bird. I remember being consoled by this story after the death of my grandfather whom I was incredibly close to. Every single time I saw a bird I would think “There’s grandpa!” and I would smile and be so happy for the rest of the day because then I knew that he was still around and he never really left me. The birds became the best part of my life.
One day, while playing in the yard I found a bird lying on the ground. I was absolutely horrified by it. I didn’t understand how this could happen to someone’s soul. I sat with the dying bird for hours until it finally passed away. I began sobbing over the dead animal. My grandfather had already died once, how could he possible die again? I wouldn’t let my parents touch the bird because I was convinced it would be okay. That I would wake up the next morning and it would get up and fly away. It never did.
That was the day I stopped believing in God.
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