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When my grandmother died this past winter it was the first death I had to deal with. It was difficult, but I wrote her a poem. Poetry and the RIP factor allowed me to get over it. My morality is insubstantial, so I hope to leave a positive remnants.
I think that the "afterlife" consists of what-ever an individual believes in. I emulate slightly with the buhdist(sp?) perspective, with my own personal twist.
I've realized that the oceanic field that we call life, I'm nothing more than a blade of grass. I hope to return to the shade underneath the tree of life.
Might I be able to enjoy the shade now, by-chance? If death is another life, then I'll live it when it comes, until then; this is all I have.
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