My daughter gets her gravestone

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I don’t believe there’s an ‘afterlife’. I believe this is it, there is nothing after.

I do believe we are made of atoms. We are a collection of pieces that makes us each unique. Other than how they’re grouped together, there’s no difference between me, you, your pet.

Somehow we came together and, when we’re done, those pieces go back to wherever, where they become something else. Or tiny pieces of a million other things.

That’s what I believe is happening to my daughter right now, that she’s slowly becoming a tiny piece of a million different things.

I don’t believe in an afterlife, I don’t believe we’ll ever take this form again, but I don’t think we really ever die.

My daughter was, for a brief moment, a unique collection of atoms. And now she’s becoming pieces of something else.


The headstone is in the ground. As soon as the worker guy left the boys started planting daisies they ripped out of the ground from a nearby field.

…I guess that’s it. I’ll start sending out the photos tonight so, if you offered to help, you’ll be receiving one. I can’t afford to print and mail them, but they’ll all be a high enough quality that you can make anything from a 4×6 to a poster-sized enlargement that looks great.


…I screwed up the headline in the original version of this post. All three of my sisters are doing just fine.




About Gabriel...

...diagnosed with manic depression when I was nineteen, for the next 14-years I lived without treatment or a recovery plan. I've been homeless, one time I graduated college, I've won awards for reporting on Internet privacy issues, and a weekly humour column. In 2002 I finally hit bottom and found help. It's now 2022, and I have an 8-year old son, and a 12-year old son... I’m usually about six feet tall, and I'm pretty sure I screwed up my book deal. I mostly blog at
This entry was posted in Bipolar Disease, Bipolar Disorder, Clinical Depression, crazy people with no pants, Health, Living With Depression, Living With Manic Depression, Manic Depression, Mental Health and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to My daughter gets her gravestone

  1. This is a confusing topic! I don’t like to think about the, better I like to think about my present. It is more useful

    • Gabriel... says:

      Hi Somesh. I spent most of my late-teens until my early-30’s thinking about my own death in fairly detailed and intricate fantasies, so mostly I was stuck in the past and seeing no future for a very long time.

      Once I managed to get my condition (this bipolar disease) somewhat under control I was able to see a positive future. Then my son was born and I became very aware of my own mortality again, as well as his mortality as well…

      The way I grew up, how I was raised — I spent the first eight years of my life in a communist commune, didn’t leave a lot of room in my life for religion. So, except for a few summers spent at a Christian youth camp when I was a young teen, I’ve never had a religious education.

      So, during all of those years spent dreaming about dying, I had to come up with my own ideas about what happens afterwards. The atom thing just makes the most sense, and seems the most rational.

      Thanks for the comment.

  2. I hadn’t heard. I am very sorry for your loss.

    • Gabriel... says:

      Thanks Natalia. I’m not sure if it’s because they haven’t noticed yet, but so far the keepers of the cemetery are letting us grow flowers over her grave instead of grass… it’s a very pretty spot.

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