There are no ghosts. When you die, you're dead. There's no afterlife. People who claim they can see ghosts are just looking for attention. People who believe in reincarnation are just postponing their lives.
Everybody knows they're gonna die, baby. Nobody wanna hear it from you, you dig?
We made a cruel world. My generation, my parents' generation. Too little caring. Too much hate, anger, and hurt. We talk a good game about protecting our children, but we leave too much on the table that might surely save their lives. Justin Foley died of a disease that, from its inception, thrives in silence. And there are a number of such diseases, a number of ills that thrive when we are silent about them. Because we let our fears, our shame, our twisted moral codes keep us in silence, as death stalks more children. I say, enough. Enough shifting blame. Enough pointing fingers. Enough confusing those who report the demage with those who cause it. Let us remember Justin for his accomplishments on the football field and the basketball court. Let us remember his smile that I am told melted a hundred hearts. But let's also remember his death with sorrow and determination that spur us to action.
La muerte no es verdad cuando se ha cumplido bien la obra de la vida.