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Bereavement Support Services
Poems

Death is Nothing at All

Henry Scott-Holland, Canon of St. Paul’s - 1847-1913

‘Death is nothing at all…I have only slipped away into the next room…I am I and you are you…whatever we were to each other that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone; wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Pray, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect, without the ghosts of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the as it ever was; there is absolutely unbroken continuity. What is this 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.’

We Remember Them

In the rising of the sun and in its going down, we remember them.
In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, we remember them.
In the opening buds and in the rebirth of spring, we remember them.
In the blueness of the sky an in the warmth of summer, we remember them.
In the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn, we remember them.
In the beginning of the year and when it ends, we remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength, we remember them.
When we have joys we yearn to share, we remember them.
So long as we live, they too shall live, for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.

Remembering

Elizabeth Dent

Go ahead and mention my child, the one who died, you know.
Don’t worry about hurting me further; the depth of my pain doesn’t show.
Don’t worry about making me cry, for I am already crying inside.
Help me to heal by releasing the tears that I try to hide.
I’m hurt when you just keep silent, pretending he didn’t exist.
I’d rather you mention my child, knowing that he is missed.
You asked how I was doing, and I responded with “pretty good” or “fine.”
But healing is something ongoing. I feel it will take a lifetime.

Grief Is Like a River

Cynthia G. Kelley

My grief is like a river---
I have to let it flow,
But I myself determine
Just where the banks will go.
Some days the current takes me
In waves of guilt and pain,
But there are always quiet pools
Where I can rest again
I crash on rocks of anger –
My faith seems faint indeed,
But there are other swimmers
Who know that what I need
Are loving hands to hold me
When the waters are too swift,
And someone kind to listen
When I just seem to drift.
Grief’s river is a process
Of relinquishing the past
By swimming in Hope’s channels
I’ll reach the shore at last.