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.
My mother confided to me, sometime after my
father died, that he had been visiting her from
time to time.
"Is he behaving well?" I asked
"Oh yes" she replied.
"Well that seems okay then.
Just tell him to 'get on his bike'
if he is getting on your nerves"
"Okay I will do that" she responded happily.
After 63 years of marriage, it would be
more of a surprise if he wasn't still with
her.
Which makes me wonder.
How much of Others, is them...
and how much is in our own imagination.