I have been staring at that door again,
perhaps because people I know
are lining up at it,
I cry when they pass through and
are gone from sight forever.
I’ve sat near the door,
from time to time, keeping
people company in their waiting—
sensing, at times, a crowd
of angels and loved ones
waiting with us,
while we’ve read a psalm, held hands
and kept trying to breathe.
I’ve heard the stories
about the other side.
Stories of so much love that you feel
your skin might not contain you
and your heart will surely burst.
Stories about beauty beyond telling.
About music and so much color.
Stories about belonging.
About life as we never imagined it.
The door is ancient.
So many have walked through it.
But we seem unable
to talk about it much.
We turn away, resist,
avoid—all the while
knowing it waits for us all,
this door of final surrender.