Corey came to me in a dream last night, in a night with very little sleep. We were having a family reunion, and Corey and Ry were here. All Pat's family were there. Ry's mood was clear and alert and happy; he was wearing black, with his black cowboy boots and his determined gait. Corey was a few months pregnant --barely showing-- and Julia was also several months pregnant, so everyone's mood was light and jubilant; we were all so happy to be together again.
Julia and I were looking at Corey's belly--she was so excited to be pregnant-- and Corey was in her super-bubbly sparkling mood, so effervescent. A celebratory feeling saturated everyone. At one point, before we were going to head out on a hike, Corey came to me as I sat on a sofa, and curled herself into my lap; I held her tight in my arms and she said, so clearly and with so much love: "I miss you, Mom."
My heart nearly exploded with love. "I miss you, too, honey, I ache for you every single day."
Death is Nothing At All
Henry Scott Holland (January 27, 1847 – March 17, 1918)
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!
Julia and I were looking at Corey's belly--she was so excited to be pregnant-- and Corey was in her super-bubbly sparkling mood, so effervescent. A celebratory feeling saturated everyone. At one point, before we were going to head out on a hike, Corey came to me as I sat on a sofa, and curled herself into my lap; I held her tight in my arms and she said, so clearly and with so much love: "I miss you, Mom."
My heart nearly exploded with love. "I miss you, too, honey, I ache for you every single day."
Death is Nothing At All
Henry Scott Holland (January 27, 1847 – March 17, 1918)
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!
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