If I should die,
(and I will some day),
I won't be far away.
You will see me.

When the big golden retriever ambles in
and lies down under the kitchen table,
he's lying at my feet.
I'm in the chair.
When Ann throws the covers off
and heads for the warm bathroom,
I'm in the dressing room, up and ready to go.
I'm watching the birds at the feeder.
I'm waiting for the tulips to bloom
and the flowering shrubs to burst in color.
I'm down in the barn, fiddling with the old tractor.
Where ever I used to be, I am still there.
What ever I used to do, I still do it.
You will see me.

If I should die,
(and I will some day),
I hope, when it happens,
that I'm still in the game.
When I was a boy I would day dream of being
carried out on a stretcher while the cheerleaders wept.
And, of course,
I would return to the conflict
to even greater glory.
I can't expect to return to play,
but the game has been such fun,
I won't leave right away.
I'm still here.
You will see me.

My life has been a joyful banquet;
plenty of frosting and cake,
delectable appetizers and
nourishing and filling main courses.
(Note the order of the servings.)
Many friends at our table to share the feast,
some still on the guest list,
some having moved on.

Where I sat, I am still sitting.
Where I worked, I am still there.
I am with those I love,
I am with my family.
I am with my dog.
I am with my friends.

No, I am too much a part of all these things.
If I should die,
(and I will some day)
I won't be too far away.
You will see me.