To me the honour is sufficient of belonging to the universe — such a great universe, and so grand a scheme of things. Not even Death can rob me of that honour. For nothing can alter the fact that I have lived; I have been I, if for ever so short a time. And when I am dead, the matter which composes my body is indestructible—and eternal, so that come what may to my ‘Soul,’ my dust will always be going on, each separate atom of me playing its separate part — I shall still have some sort of a finger in the pie. When I am dead, you can boil me, burn me, drown me, scatter me — but you cannot destroy me: my little atoms would merely deride such heavy vengeance. Death can do no more than kill you.”
Wilhelm Nero Pilate Barbellion
Peace, my heart
Rabindranath Tagore
Peace, my heart,
let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death
but completeness.
Let love melt into memory
and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end
in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle
like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End,
for a moment,
and say your last words in silence.
I bow to you
and hold up my lamp
to light you on your way.
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
~ Ecclesiastes 3: 1-4
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to remove that which is planted;
A … time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance.
You can shed tears that he is gone
David Harkins
or you can smile because he has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that he’ll come back
or you can open your eyes and see all he’s left.
Your heart can be empty because you can’t see him
or you can be full of the love you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday
or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.
You can remember him and only that he’s gone
or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back
Or you can do what he’d want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.
I’ll be seeing you – various (listen)
I’ll be seeing you
In all the old familiar places
That this heart of mine embraces
All day through
In that small café
The park across the way
The children’s carousel
The chestnut trees
The wishing well
I’ll be seeing you
In every lovely summer’s day
In everything that’s light and gay
I’ll always think of you that way
I’ll find you
In the morning sun
And when the night is new
I’ll be looking at the moon
But I’ll be seeing you
I’ll be seeing you
In every lovely summer’s day
In everything that’s light and gay
I’ll always think of you that way
I’ll find you
In the morning sun
And when the night is new
I’ll be looking at the moon
But I’ll be seeing you
In My Life – The Beatles (listen)
There are places I’ll remember
All my life though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I’ve loved them all
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I’ll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more
Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
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 sunlight 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 circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there; I did not die.
—Mary Elizabeth Frye
Death is Not the End
Death is not the end
But the beginning
Of a metamorphosis.
For matter is never destroyed
Only transformed
And rearranged –
Often more perfectly.
Witness how in the moment of a caterpillar’s death
The beauty of the butterfly is born
And released from the prison of the cocoon
It flies free.
— Peter Tatchell
An old Irish blessing
May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be ever at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and the rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of your hand.