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When my father died, I felt gutted. A very large portion of my identity was being a daughter and without him, I didn't feel I knew myself. The poem "Death is Nothing at All" by Henry Scott-Holland grounded me. I would read it several times a day to remind myself that although I felt the best part of me was gone, I was still okay because the best part of my father was still in me. Each time I read the poem I felt he was close to me, and I was going to be okay. It helped me move when I felt I was frozen.
—Submitted by Susan Scott, Austin, TX

Death is Nothing at All

Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I, and you are you. Whatever we were to each other that we still are. 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. Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me. Let my name be the household name it always was. Let it be spoken without the shadow of a ghost in it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was. What is death but a negligible accident. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of your sight. All is well, nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
—Henry Scott-Holland

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