#76 When My Father Died

In August of 1983 my own father died. When I returned to my home in Minneapolis, I went into work and found the following poem on my desk. I read it and it broke my heart; all the tears I had kept inside sprung forth. And that was a very good thing indeed for me and its sentiments never fails to help my heart. I have sent this poem over the years to many…as I now send it to you.

I never found out who did such a kindness to me when I needed it so. I just try to carry the message to others lost and in grief.

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 glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle rain.
When you awaken in the morning’s hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there…I did not die.
(Unknown)