Is heaven stiff formality?
Or is it the familiarity of being with friends?
That sense of belonging...
that feeling of home....
Is heaven all of us together before it was all broken...
each death a fissure in that complete, heartwarming ball?
A return to that togetherness with everyone safe and brought back home?
Is it mashed potatoes and company,
Voices and laughter near the heat of the stove...
Too many people at the table
Reaching and passing, talking and eating...
A cluster of mismatched chairs and recognizable voices
Old, familiar jokes
In a place that you know
And you know a place is yours.
When you walk into a room, the people know you
And you're at home
And you don't have to listen to the tick-tocking voices of the passing of time.
Grandpa grinning, in his element, as he pours flour and milk into his specialized concoction bubbling on the stove
Uncle waving a towel in front of the smoke detector as it goes off, yes, once again
And brother at the counter, feeding bread into the toaster, that loaf of bread becoming a veritable tower of golden-brown toast
And the voices, yes the voices
And then the family settles in.
An informal affair, and a seemingly limitless supply of a favorite family food
Grandpa's specialty...white gravy on toast.
And the best part is...this moment can last forever.
Not this particular moment...no, not like Groundhog Day, no, not that.
But the promise of tomorrow, of being able to get together to have that opportunity again, is forever.
And ever and ever.
Because there won't be any dying or watching loved ones around you begin to grow old.
There won't be any overnight catastrophes, visits by policemen, or loved ones left alone.
That, I believe, just might be my view on a little piece of heaven...
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