I don't think I could handle the disappoint in your eyes if I told you who I really was. I don't think you'd get angry, which is what makes it so painful. It'd be easier if you were angry. I know you'd see my sincerity; I know you'd finally understand why I tiptoe around subjects so often; you'd put everything into place... And be ashamed. Maybe you'd blame your daughter, or her husband, or yourself for letting me become this way. Maybe we could wait until heaven to tell each other everything we wished to on Earth. We'd have eternity to understand. For now, I don't want your last memories of me to be of shame or regret, so I'll keep up the charade until we can be honest with each other. God isn't like us; God doesn't love their children less or more for what they are. However, because we're human... I don't think you'd love me the way you once did.
I don't want to lose you until the moment I have to.