I found this verse on a message board:
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
and it made me cry. The person who posted it also said "It is always hard for those left behind because to them falls the grieving."
That would be me. And a lot of other people. We're the "left behind" and "grieving".
I can imagine Margret in Heaven, because she was a believer. Her Heaven would be a place where the weather was warm and she didn't have to bundle up in sweaters and coats and hats, and snow boots, and wrap scarves around her neck and face to warm the air she breathed. There would be friends to converse with, too. Margret would talk to anyone, and she made friends easily. There would be babies to play with; Margret loved babies, and they loved her right back. There would be pools to swim in, parks to walk through with flowers to pick, and there would be horses to ride; she liked all those things. Food, don't forget the food! There would be all sorts of meals, and restaurants, and gatherings with food at the center. I miss her saying, "Mom, do you know what's for dinner?" I tried all the ways I could think of to get her to say, "I'm hungry," or "I want something to eat," but she insisted on asking "Do you know what's for lunch?" or dinner, or breakfast, or snack. It was a frustration, but it was how she let me know hunger was on her mind.
Margret, I love you. I miss you. I will remember you, always, as the most incredible gift of my life. Right now I grieve for you. Please don't be unhappy with me, it's such a big change from you here, hugging me, coming through the door of an afternoon with a smile and "Mom, I'm home!" to having the house echoing with your absence.
3 weeks ago