the dead become like strangers

We die alone.
 
Even with the family gathered.
Even with the great grands in the hallway.
Even with the daughter finally teary and all that murky water under the bridge.
Even with the young priest's promises
and the holy oil
and the grace of the holy spirit
and etcetera and so on
we die alone.
 
Finally the family gets impatient
and the nurse tells them, "maybe if you leave"
and sure enough  
almost every time
the heart stops
as though the soul needs privacy,
a minute of solitude to say goodbye to the body
or to tune in to that song rattling faintly in the back of the brain
or to focus on some image there
of him
or her
or to re-experience some frightful joy
or wicked pain
or something else that defined it
and held it somehow in check
so that freedom was always just an idea.
 
The loved ones
stay to dab and reminisce  
and rest assured that yes, god forgives
and heaven waits
and all the family will be there somehow
in that celestial kingdom  
and the brother will say so in his eulogy
but only the dead really know what waits
and the dead become like strangers
who no longer have need to speak.