Yesterday when i visited Dad, i wasn't prepared for the depth of his clearing. He had emptied the top of a small table that he called 'Mam's table' after she died. It was beside the chair she slept in for almost a year. It held some photos and some mementos of special moments that happened after she died, reminding us she's close. And it held her urn.
Incredulous and alarmed, I cried, "Where's Mam?"
"What?" Dad asked.
"What have you done with Mam? Her urn?"
"Oh, in there." Dad pointed to a clear plastic tote.
"What are you going to do with it? I can take her home."
I can't remember Dad's response. Perhaps he intends to put the urn back up somewhere once the new floors are down (partly the reason for all this drastic clearing). I knew that I had to let go of the emotion. Of course I know that Mam, her spirit, isn't in the pretty pink and gold urn. So I turned my attention to a manila envelope stuffed with old photos, mainly black and white, that Dad had set aside for me. I glanced through them while Dad and I chatted, many of the photos heartwarming.
In the middle of the photos, I saw a pink piece of folded paper with Mam's handwriting on it. No other paper was in the envelope. She had copied down the following poem:
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,
we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which we 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 together.
What is death but a negligible accident?
I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.
~ Canon Henry Scott Holland
Welcome! I'm Sue Blott: a writer of all things, a poet at heart, mom, wife, daughter, step-mom, grandma, tea drinker, tai chi-er, mystic, artist, dreamer...and now a blogger! This is my world.