It’s funny how death has a way

A way of bringing the scattered together

A way of making us think about living

So on a pretty day in December we gather

Three hundred or so but a core group

We each have a story

We all enter the doors

The deceased’s pictures hangs on the screen

The slideshow plays

Snapshots of him with his guitars, pigeons, and paper mache

A revered man who touched many

One for 30 years ordained

There’s so many faces I haven’t seen in so long

I used to see them everyday, how strange

It feels like a dream

New carpet on the floors

We exchange hugs

I hear familiar laughs

Sights and sounds of the past

What’s everyone wearing

That deceased’s son looks like a Jonas brother

My husband sneaks in through the side

Shaved head, suit and tie, undercover

In the front I spot the deceased’s bride

I see my friend who lost her dog this year

My other friend with that long face and skinny jeans

A woman greets me – I don’t recognize her

I see some other people that look familiar

I sense something’s out of place

We sing some hymns

The microphone is exchanged too many times

Everyone saying something about him

I’m left trying to figure out what it all means

Daring actions that don’t fit the words

Any veracity?

My husband and I sneak out at the end

Too spent to pretend

An hour later we board our flight

December to July nearly overnight

We’re so happy to be someplace new

And warm

We get to Atlantis, The Palm in Dubai

A new page in the story

Opt to give the waterslide a try

Maybe it’s all allegory

We hop on the raft

Some strangers join in

We descend down the tube

So thrilling, it feels like flight

I hear a well known laugh

At night we sit under the stars and fireworks

A peaceful interlude

A guitar strums, familiar chords

We put our feet up and talk about how we’ll never go back to church

“Me neither,”

Says the deceased from behind his guitar

“I had to fake it to come this far

I couldn’t live that life anymore

This was the only way”

His eyes were wide

“Here at Atlantis I spend my days”

First time I’d ever seen him in a t-shirt

He pointed to his crafts of paper mache, a life-sized doll that looked just like him

He whispered as he told his secret

We looked and listened

Again we all rode the water slide

He didn’t know if we’d keep it

When we got home we didn’t tell anyone he hadn’t died

Didn’t have to worry about that anyway

Strangely his choice didn’t sting

All our old friends had been scattered away

It’s funny how death has a way of making you think about living