Last night we visited on the farm, I am so sorry we did not get to see you, we seemed to have just missed you, but I know you were there. You see, I went from group to group in search of you, but you must have just left, they were still talking about you, laughing about something you said, or something you did.
I saw your shadow as you left your granddaughter's room, but could not quite catch up with you. I followed the sound of laughter coming from the living room, the smile on your wife's face told me you were just there. I lingered a while listening to some of your escapades. How fondly I remember all the ones we shared with you.
I caught a glimpse of you in your sons' eyes, in your granddaughter's shy smile and in the faces of your grandsons. I could feel the warmth of you coming from the earth you love and the smell of wood fire.
We had to eventually leave, it was getting late, I was sure I felt you hug me in the way the night-air suddenly felt warmer just before I got into the car. Sorry we did not get to see you, but I know you were there...
I would like to share this poem by Henry Scott-Holland:
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!
Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/death-is-nothing-at-all-by-henry-scott-holland
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!
Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/death-is-nothing-at-all-by-henry-scott-holland
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