Tuesday, February 3, 2015

A poem about death

My brother passed away suddenly this past weekend. He was fifty-four--too young to leave us. I will always remember him as my friend from our teenage days, when we had long talks about life and love and finding our way in the world. He and I used to bike a lot, and he went on to become a triathlete who competed in a lot of triathlons. My mother and I used to attend some of them, and we marveled at the positive spirit that the athletes had. He was also an avid fisherman in his youth, something that he did not pursue into his adult life, unfortunately. He worked on Wall Street and in the corporate world after college, but was never really happy in it. Later on he married and had a family; his two children were the apples of his eye. He loved his children and they loved him. That was always so clear whenever we were together. Unfortunately, life deals out bad luck at times, and he and his family had their share of it during the past few years. He always remained upbeat despite the problems, but I think the stress just did him in at the end. He will always be in my mind and heart. And I will carry the happy memories of being together with him and his family for always. 
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Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
by Mary Elizabeth Frye


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 diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

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