Death and other Daydreams

I think about death a lot. I think about dying and people who have died. I think about my dad who died two years ago, I think about my mom's best friend who died four months after my dad. I think about what would happen if I died, if my brother, mother, boyfriend, boyfriend's parents, my roommates or best friend died. Sometimes I welcome death and sometimes I think I couldn't survive myself if people close to me died. I'm not scared to die nor am I scared of death; I don't care what happens to me after I die. I don't believe that, even if I committed every sin in the Book, I'd go to Hell because I don't believe there is a Hell. I only humor the idea of Heaven because it's more appealing than Hell. It's comforting to think about my dad in Heaven doing whatever it is he wants to do and that he and my mom's best friend are keeping each other company. When I think of Heaven, I think of the deceased at the age when they passed, but with the mind and body of them in their prime; at their favorite age on this Earth. It's just a way to make myself feel better about people who have died. Not because I don't like the idea of them decomposing under the Earth or in a drawer, but because I want to remember them being happy. I remember my dad being drunk at dinner, though. That's what I remember most about my dad. I remember him passing out at the "dinner table" which was the coffee table in the living room where we ate as a family watching the Simpsons. I remember coming home from swim practice at 6:30 p.m. and walking into the living room to see my dad already head-bobbing downward with an I.C. Lite can in front of him. I remember going into the kitchen to see what my mom was cooking and there being no speak of my father in the living room; it was such a regular occurance.