Going Home

My mother was diagnosed with cancer 4 years ago.  When the doctor gave her a time frame for living, she started making plans with us to ensure everything was taken care of.  She told us what dress she wanted to be buried in, she picked the pallbearers, requested the honorary pallbearers, told my sister the specific singer and the song she wanted sung at her funeral and made sure her will was up to date.  She also told us about a poem that she wanted read at her grave.  During the 7 weeks that she lived, we reminisced about the good times and recalled happy memories.  We all said our good-byes to her and tried to keep her comfortable in her last days.  My mother knew that she was going to a better place but knew that we would all miss her.  As we made arrangements after she passed for the funeral to be later in the week, we asked her pastor/friend to read the poem at the graveside.  Hoping that we had done all of the things that she wanted us to for that time, we sat in the chairs at the cemetery as he read the poem.  When he reached the 3rd line, a huge gust of wind blew around the tent.  On a hot humid afternoon in July, we knew she had reached home. 

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 sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am that swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled 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.