Loss

Yesterday Amy's father passed away.  He died quickly - at home.  I think Amy said that her dad was 85.

It doesn't matter how old the ones are that have passed away.   We're never ready to lose the ones we love. 

Below is a poem that I found a long time ago.  Although the origins are a little uncertain, best evidence is that the poem was written by Mary Frye, a housewife from Baltimore, in 1932.  She wrote it for a friend who's mother had just died.

I love it and find it comforting.  I hope it comforts those who visit here also.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
 
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
 
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
 
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
 
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,  
I am the starshine of the night.
 
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
 
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
 
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.

~ Mary Frye ~

Rest in peace, Paul

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