This night two years ago I was holding my moms hand. I ran my fingers through her hair just like she used to do to me when I was a little girl. I whispered in her ear that I was right there with her. And I was. As she took her last breath. I was there. Nothing prepares you for that moment. I never thought I could go two days without talking to her and now it's been two years. I honestly don't know how I've done it. But I have. Maybe it's because I hear her. I hear her when I talk. I hear her when I sing. I hear her when I cuss. (My kids always say I sound like nana when I cuss.) I feel her when I cook. I feel her when I read our favorite books or watch our favorite movies. I feel her when I wear her sweater and her gloves. I feel her every morning when I put on her necklace. I know she will always be with me because she is a part of me. Until the day I get to see her again...
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to 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 into 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 effect.
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 absolute unbroken continuity.
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.