I have been reading obituaries

Where the bereaved say things like

She’ll wait for me in heaven

Or he’s watching out for me from paradise.

I don’t know if people believe these fantasies

Or just understand that such stories

Are there to get through a tough moment in life.

Maybe better than saying

Oh he’s deader than a doornail

So long, too bad about your short yet miserable life.

Maybe we need to say all those things

Even if we don’t actually believe them

Maybe it’s like taking off your glasses when you are nearsighted

Letting everything go all soft and fuzzy

And hard to recognize

Is this death you ask?

Maybe it’s just the cat.

Hard to tell without my glasses.