And well I believe in Heaven even on the days that I know I only believe in god because I want to believe so I won't feel so alone. But Heaven, oh hell yes, I believe.
I believe when I die I open my finally clear eyes to an door in front of me with the numbers 340 next to it and I'll push it all the way open and walk through it... through the small and paneled porch with the tangle of green living and to the living room filled with people who shout my name and jump to their feet, ignoring that Cubs game on tv as they engulf me in their arms and their laughter and their questions and how pretty I look just like my mother. I will kiss their cheeks and take their hands and pick up the babies and turn my head while the shout by Harry Carey - Cubs Win! comes from the tv and and everyone cheers and I hand back the babies
and walk thru the little dining room with mirror covered in cards and photographs, I'll stop and pick up a cookie from the table and stuff it in my mouth... from the bedrooms is the sound of the radio playing irish music someone is singing If I had the wings of an angel, over these prison walls I would fly... and I peek in the other bedroom where a little red headed child puts down her dolls and smiles sweetly, sweetly.
I'll head to kitchen and pause and let my breathe shudder out in a tremor and place my hand on the doorframe where the lines and dates and names mark the growth and passage of time... and then there is her, she looks up at me where she is sitting at the table in the nimbus of light flooding through the kitchen windows in that little kitchen.
She puts her coffee cup in it's saucer and stands up, looks at me, she takes my hands with her capable, calloused ones and she is young and ancient and she kisses my face Squeakycheeks, she says and touches my hair, so beautiful and frizzy like your mother . And we just stand there with world spinning all around us, through the open summer windows is the sound of all the children of generations and their mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters and they shout and laugh and argue and head across the way the to the Forest Preserve Race you to the Indian Tree and over her shoulder and through my tears I can see the steeples of St Andrew's , when I close my eyes I hear the bells ringing Angelus and filling my lungs and my head and my heart and emptying the years of heartache and loss and pain until even they become part of the joys and loves and beauties of my life , filling me up like a wild river flooding over it's banks, spilling across the land to feed the new growth and the whole world.
We've been waiting.