“Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush, I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night. I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room. I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave bereft. I am not there. I have not left.”
―Mary Elizabeth Frye
Today is two weeks since my cousin passed away. It’s been a dark time of dissociation. I feel a mess of things which probably shouldn’t be verbalized for a while, and I am working out how to make sure what her family went through never happens to another family again. That’s a tall order, but I’m nothing if not determined. It is easier to try and fix a universally broken system, than it is to be angry. At the moment, I’m both, so I need time. Ultimately, this is not about me at all.