The power of poetry or prose

When we grieve, we search for something — anything — to create an anchor to what reality was before our loss.

When I lost my dad, I was reminded of a poem I’d found during our family vacation in Colorado a few years before.

These words served as an anchor for me and reminded me of my faith in the days, weeks, months and years following his death.

Don’t 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.