I've never been scared of much. I mean sure, I would not like to have a stand off with a spider any time soon but that is more of a preference than a fear. If I am honest, I don't tend to react much to anything anymore: not pain, not sadness, not happiness, nothing. There is only one thing that makes me twitch: Death.

Just the thought of the afterlife makes me quiver. Is there one? Will I be in it? Do we remain as physical beings? Is there punishment? Or does it all just go... black? NO! No, it can't be. Life can't just end.

My dad has always believed in reincarnation, the idea that we live on in another living being as energy can never be destroyed, just transferred. I know that my dad has always been the hippy dippy type, I mean he also believes that burning sage will cleanse any room and banish all 'bad energy' for god's sake.

Anyway, despite my previous confession, here I am at 1:00 in the morning standing above the grave of my Grandmother, Mary Walters, who died the day before I was born 17 years ago. I had heard stories about her and apparently she was just like my dad: batshit crazy. My dad told me about a time that she stole someone's dog because she believed that it was possessed by her dead sister's soul. Some days, my dad said he would walk in the kitchen to her talking to her 'sister' about the state of the economy and he would have to kiss his 'Aunty Lucy' good night each day for the next 7 years before she died... of colic.

She was crazy, but she was loved. That was the part that I don't fear as much, as I know that as long as I live my life to the fullest, surrounded by people I love and trust, that I won't be alone, even after death. I have always wanted to have a family and create a future generation, hopefully without the dopiness but I would love them all the same.

As I stood above her grave, it was clear that she had many loved ones as the stone was well groomed, with specks of moss here and there but no obvious damage. The stone was a light grey with the name of my grandmother clearly etched into it as we had ensured that it did not fade and the outer edges were decorated with hydrated green foliage that brightened up the small village graveyard. My feet were planted into the wet green grass as the air sprinkled my face with specks of rain and I wiped the dampness off of my pale face and then shoving my shivering hands straight back in my pocket. How had I gotten here? Why was I here? I was just in my room. I retraced my steps as the wind started to pick up, whistling violently in my ear. I was reading on my bed and I heard my dad yell my name. Jane! JANE! His tone got progressively more anxious, so I hopped out of bed, predicting that he was just overreacting and the next thing I know, I'm here looking down at a grave. The wind was getting snippy now, my cheeks were ice cold and my ears were stinging as the foliage on the grave started to rustle. My eyes snapped to the grave stone as I picked up on something I hadn't seen before. A name. My eyes widened and started to sting as I read out the words.

"Jane Walters".