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This image clearly shows some on their death bed. But it makes you wonder, do these people only come around at the end? How did they play a role in your life prior to this scenario? How do we weed out the people who are no good for us and do not motivate us to be better? Is there a correct answer to all of these questions, probably not but each person has a decision on who/what they keep in their life and why.

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This video brings you to the realization that we have complete control of our actions on a daily basis and do we really want to look back and see that we've spent our time on something that hadn't made us happy at the moment. sometimes giving us something to believe in, whether its ourself or a God gives us purpose.

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Man has the possibility of existence after death. But possibility is one thing and the realization of the possibility is quite a different thing. - G. J. Gurdjieff 

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Man has the possibility of existence after death. But possibility is one thing and the realization of the possibility is quite a different thing. - G. J. Gurdjieff 

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This quote gives the option that heaven/hell exist. With obviously no proof going for or against that argument how are we supposed to believe which is real? There is no definite answer, but one thing I have realized as a Muslim, throughout the fast of Ramadan, there is a feeling which grows inside of you, similar to Loder's in which he seems to "believe" and have an ease of heart even when he is going through the toughest time of his life.

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Dream as if you'll live forever. Live as if you'll die today. - James Dean

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Dream as if you'll live forever. Live as if you'll die today. - James Dean

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This quote was plastered on my aunts wall for most of my childhood. It always opened my eyes and basically explains that you never know when your last moment would be and what you do everyday is a choice so you can either make it great or dwell on the bad but either way you're going to have to live with that decision.

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I guess I'm probably one of the lucky ones. I was a complete stranger to tragedy well into my twenties. Although my parents struggled with bills and debt, I never knew any kind of discomfort. I had plenty to eat, a roof over my head, and a closet full of clothes. I was able to go to college, have a nice wedding, and buy my own home. For a long time the world only consisted of what lay around me and in front of me, everything felt important, and the future was full of limitless possibilities.

I remember the first time it hit me, when I first truly acknowledged the enormity of this world and the smallness of a single life. I was in my early twenties, going through a 'funk'. I remember a beautiful night in August, standing among a crowd at a $5 concert at the State Fair, I looked around and thought, "why does everyone care so much? Nothing matters." A month later I attended the first session of my college course, "Death, Dying, and Bereavement", I promptly dropped it the next day. This was the first and last college course I ever withdrew from. I couldn't face it.

Although the fog receded as quickly as it had rolled in, I never entirely forgot that feeling. It existed inside of me, and as I experienced my own tragedies and the tragedies of others it became a very real part of me. I manage to keep it locked away most of the time, but sometimes after the lights go out at night I find myself falling further and further into darkness, to a place where the air is thin and I can hardly breathe.

And I no longer really want a room with a view. Looking out on the beauty of the world is mesmerizing but it also makes me feel small. Sometimes it's too much for me to take in and causes me to reflect, how cruel it is that we're only allowed to exist here for a short while. We're like snowflakes born on a warm day; we form, we float through the world, and then we melt.

I think about it all the time. Almost every day. What did my mother think when her life was coming to an end? How could she hear the beauty of a song? How could she enjoy the warmth of her bed? How could she wake up every morning and realize her nightmare was real? How could she look at her children and know their life would have to go on without her?

We still needed her. She was our heart, our history, and our home. With her we were safe and everything was full of music and joy and love. When she died the snow globe shattered. The beauty and the wonder and the music spilled out over shards of broken glass. What was left was messy, dangerous, and broken. The world would never again look quite as lovely and warm.

But now I am a mother and it's my job to put the glass back together, even though I know the illusion is as fragile as a house made of sticks. While my children lie snug in their beds at night, I stare feverishly out into the dark wondering if the wolf will ever come knocking. Just like in the children's books he wears many different disguises, but the difference is that now I know he sometimes wins.

This is the impact of death on life.

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I guess I'm probably one of the lucky ones. I was a complete stranger to tragedy well into my twenties. Although my parents struggled with bills and debt, I never knew any kind of discomfort. I had plenty to eat, a roof over my head, and a closet full of clothes.

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The author of this blog posts describes the tragedy she went through losing her mother at a young age and explaining that although she felt empty without here, she couldn't raise her child through grief.