I just got home from the funeral service for a beautiful, talented and intelligent young girl who, at sixteen years of age, took her own life. The shock of it has stunned hundreds of people in our area. These words were said. It is a passage from a book called September by by Rosamunde Pilcher. I have never heard more moving words at such a service: Death is nothing at all. It doesnt count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no air of sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for our family. Let my name be ever the household word it always was. Let it be spoken without an effort, without a ghost of a shadow upon it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. There is absolute and unbroken continuity. What is death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well with my soul. May everyone who knew her find peace.
Posted on: Sat, 20 Sep 2014 19:43:47 +0000
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