Of Past Lives & Tree Frogs

My grandmother is a frog. Not a toad, brown and warty. Not a bullfrog; a sedate pile of goo. But a lithesome, verdant frog. Green as a St. Patty's Day parade. Graceful as a ballerina. My mother believes she is a moth. But I know better. I've know since I was a child; back when grandma was still alive. I was too young to understand the religious concept of reincarnation, but I always knew it to be true. Needed it to be true. Needed to know that life on this planet was not relegated to the span of 60, 80, 90 years. I've always been terrified of death.