Theodore F Loebenberg
Eileen, Michelle, Scott and the entire extended family. I know that words can only help heal the heart. This poem was shared with me at a time of loss, and I share it forward. Namaste, Shalom.
DEATH IS NOTHING
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 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, and 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 an absolute unbroken continuity. What is Death but a negligent 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 around the corner. All is well .
Written by Henry Scott Holland (27 January 1847 – 17 March 1918) was Regius Professor of Divinity at the University of Oxford