Poetry can be a Comfort

This poem was sent to me by my sweet cousin Sundey.  A friend of hers had suffered a loss and put this poem on facebook.  She wanted to be sure I saw it because of my recent losses.  I think I'll make a copy to take to my granddaughters too.  Thank you Sundey.  I'm sorry for your friend's loss. 


Death is Nothing at All


by Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918) Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral sometimes referred to as 'What is Death?'



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.

Art Every Day Month -- Day 26

I was reading the Ornamental blog yesterday. I'm telling you, Nina Bagley is a treasure. She mentioned the I Am poem as a school exercise in one of her older posts. I long to write at least a little poetry for myself. I'm not overly comfortable with poem writing, so I decided to do the exercise. Here is my art for today, at least so far.

I Am on Thanksgiving 2009

Today, I am grateful and a little sad
I wonder if my son feels the same way
I hear the laughter of my grandchildren, if I think really hard
I see their smiling faces in my mind's eye
I want to give them all a big bear hug
I am grateful and a little sad today
I pretend that talking to my grandchildren is enough
I feel so proud of my son's military service, but I miss him
I touch the photos of him and his children sometimes as if I am caressing their faces
I worry that we don't really know each other anymore
I cry if I let myself believe that
I am grateful and a little sad today
I understand that we see each other as often as we can
I say all that is within me when we talk on the phone
I dream of a time when we'll be able to live close to each other
I try to make it seem as if we do now, even though we don't live any where near
I hope that it's enough
I am grateful and a little sad today