Every time we say goodbye, I die a little. The first time we said goodbye was the morning after the night we had been together. For some reason, I did not want to leave. I felt so comfortable just being there with you. I almost cried when you suggested I stay; it was a long weekend — not long enough for either of us.
We became such good friends or was it an old friendship begun lifetimes ago and we just picked it up where we left off the last time. It seemed that way to me. There were many little goodbyes for this, that, and the other, and every time we said goodbye, I wondered why a little.
When your call to duty came and you were gone from me, I wondered why the gods above me, who must be in the know, thought so little of me, they allowed you to go.
When your leave came and you were near again, there was such an air of spring about it — I swore I could hear a Lark somewhere begin to sing about each cherished moment we were together, knowing there was no love finer. But then you were gone again and I wondered how strange the change from major to minor – every time we said goodbye, I died a little.
When the telegram came, I held it and died a little. There would be one more goodbye and I would truly die a little more. I was there when they brought you home. I stood straight and stoic as I crashed inside and cried to the gods above me, who must be in the know, who thought so little of me, they allowed you to go.
I stood alone on the green and threw a rose which would soon be covered. And then I heard a Lark singing true and I knew there was no finer love than ours.
“It’s been so very wonderful, my friend.
“It’s been everything.
“Goodbye ... for now."
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 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.
-- Mary Elizabeth Frye