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.