Son, I received this poem from a wonderful lady who lost her only son. When I read it I felt like you and your brother sent this to me. There is not a day that goes by that I feel like you two are just in the next room waiting for me.WHAT IS DEATH
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped 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 me 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.
~Henry Scott Holland
