“When a person is born, we rejoice, and when they’re married, we jubilate, but when they die, we try to pretend that nothing happened,” said Margaret Mead.

In all of our lives there are times when we are happy and times when we are sad. Living as we know it would be the dullest of dull if it were not for these sorts of times.

Some people believe that dying is all a part of living. It has even been said by some ministers I know: “You haven’t lived until you have died. “

Is this true? Are we only put on this planet to die and that’s all? Are we meant to just take up space for a little while, and when the space gets too crowded, does it mean it’s time to go?

Is our life truly in our hands, or is it in the hands of some more powerful force or being in another part of our universe? Do we and can we control our own destiny?

There are thousands of answers to these questions to go with the thousands of different people, places and religions in this world. But the answers are not important. They are not nearly as important as the person who believes them.

Just about two weeks ago my grandfather passed away. It wasn’t necessarily sudden or unexpected. “Devastating” is the word that best describes it. He was sick for quite some time, but my heart told me he would pull through it.

Guess my heart was wrong this time.

I have heard people say things like “it was his time” or “his time had come” my entire life and always wondered what they meant. And still, in only my 23rd year of existence, I still wonder and wish these things could be explained to me.

Now, before you go and start writing letters trying to explain to me what it means to die, ask yourself, do you really understand?

Does anyone understand? How could we, when we are all alive? Is it possible that the only way to understand death is to die?

Let’s switch for a second, switch from understanding to acceptance. These are two different things, not only in definition but also in reality. Yet, sometimes in the parameters of death they become interchangeable.

The acceptance of someone’s death is different from understanding it, and vice versa. Accepting the death of a loved one is the way we deal with the loss as a passing moment in time and as the way life must continue.

I know I do not understand why life must proceed this way, yet I accept it because I understand the circle of life must be completed somehow.

Maybe I am wrong, perhaps, by some unique mystery; it is confusing because death as a concept is just as confusing.

But isn’t it supposed to be this way? I guess if God wanted us to understand it, then it wouldn’t be something we have to experience.

If we were meant to know what death really is, we probably would never even see it.

So instead of understanding it, I choose to accept it and just remember all the reasons why I love my grandfather (love, not loved, because he is still alive in my heart).

I remember all the baseball games (he was a huge Cubs fan, like some other people I know), the trips, the talks we had, the advice (both good and bad), the jobs he gave me, the cars he bought me … but most of all I remember the man.

He was the closest thing I really could recognize as a father in my life. I had a father who helped create me and a father who married my mother, but my grandfather was the one who taught me, cared for me and nurtured me.

I will not forget my grandfather, no matter what happens. I look like the man, and at times I act like the man. Part of me is the man.

He was a God-fearing man and a family-loving man. But most of all he was a teacher. Not in the generic sense, but in the literal sense.

He taught me to be a businessman and an entrepreneur like he was. He taught me about the lessons life teaches us and the respect we must have for ourselves.

He taught me about what it means to love God and to love God’s world and all the people in it.

All the people, not just some of them. Not just the ones who are Christian. Not just the ones who are black. Not just the ones from Mississippi and Chicago.

He and I had discussions about people I know who are homosexual, lesbian and bisexual. Never once did he offer a bad opinion of the person, and never once did he tell me to stay away from those people.

This deeply religious, God-fearing, Bible-quoting man never once offered a terrible opinion on anyone deemed inappropriate by parts of society. The only time he ever did was if they had done something terrible to him.

My grandfather knew he didn’t understand homosexuals; he knew he wasn’t his place to. He taught me they are part of the world we live in, and they are people to be accepted just like anyone else.

He told me God did things because he feels they are right, not because we want him to.

My grandfather believed God loves variety. He may not have understood why, but he accepted it because … well, just because, that’s all. Just because.

Sometimes we all need to do things just because.

If we really believe in God, then maybe we understand that he is the beginning and the end, not any words written by men.

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Rhaason Mitchell is a senior in journalism and mass communication from Chicago. He is managing editor of the Daily.