Death is Nothing at All
by Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)
Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
that we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference in your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes 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 affect,
without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolutely unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you,
for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just around the corner.
All is well.
3 comments:
I love this. I love that it is simple yet profound.
Beautiful.
I have been with many people as they died.
Some I barely knew. Patients at a nursing home. I sat with them so they would not be alone. A kind of 'Karma Bank'. But also, just the compassionate thing to do.
Some, meant the world to me.
I was by my grandmother's side while she clung to life. She was a tenacious fighter. It was a wrenching experience, and I had to encourage her to 'let go Grandma, It's ok.'
I am crying now while I type this. She died of cancer at the age of 85, and told me she didn't want to die. I would have done anything to keep her with her husband, she was finally happy and secure.
She had such a painful and difficult life. The only thing I could do was be with her and love her at her death. So that's what I did. I made sure that the instant she could have more Morphine - - she did. I made sure that her only 2 out of 5 surviving children were in the rooom when she died.
I whispered in her ear. "We love you, Edith. You have done well. Go rest, Honey". Go to Beulah (her mother), and Ronny (her Son).
"We Love You So Much. Your Work is Done Here Mamma."
My mother cried out of fear of the unknonwn. "Is she in pain?" She asked as my husband hugged her close. Her face was a mask of grief.
I alone knew she was already gone. "No Mom, it's just reflexive breathing. She isn't feeling any pain. I am pushing her morphine button every 15 minutes".
We waited as the pause between each breath was longer and longer.
Finally, quiet. My Mother, and My Uncle said their goodbyes.
I alone stayed behind. I would not leave her until all I could do for her was done.
I helped the nurse remove all of the needles, tubes, wires, and monitors from her small body.
The nurse left. I washed my grandmother clean. I told her body and also looked upward to tell her how much she is loved. I told her to go rest.
When she was clean, I sat with her until they took her away.
Then I went out to face the living.
My life is diminished since she died; but I am grateful that I got to know such a splendid, giving, loving and spectacular woman. A true survivor.
She inspires me on a daily basis.
I carry her with me wherever I go.
Post a Comment