Blog Post #61
I had been thinking a lot lately, about my friend, Trish, who passed away in April of this year. I was feeling melancholy, missing her, and remembering her… You know that feeling — that pervasive ache that hits you all at once, out of the blue, the sudden awareness of loss. A rent in my heart.
To distract myself, I wandered onto my Facebook page and there at the top of my newsfeed was a friend’s post about her feelings about losing a loved one. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read the poem that she had posted to express her emotions.
I love this poem — ever since I had read it many years ago. The way it speaks of death is, to me, a truth. I meant to save the words, but somehow I lost it. I searched for it off and on for a long time — through my notes, clippings, saved memories. I did an online search to no avail.
Now, here it was, posted on Facebook and this time I’m making sure that I keep it. It was exactly what I needed to read today. Remembering Trish. Thinking about death.
Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!
Canon Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)
Brynne’s Daily Drawing #61