You ARE still my brother

This is the poem my beloved friend E., who lives abroad, sent me once she knew of my brother's death.
It conveys, quite accurately, what I would have liked to say.
For I believe and feel Tal is still my brother, and I remain his sister.

Death is nothing at all.

I have only slipped away into the next room.

I am I and you are you.

Whatever we were to each other,

that we still are.

Call me by my old familiar name.

Speak to me in the easy way

which you always used.

Put no difference in your tone.

Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed

at the little jokes we enjoyed together.

Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.

Let my name be ever the household word

that it always was.

Let it be spoken without affect,

without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant.

It is the same that it ever was.

There is absolutely unbroken continuity.

Why should I be out of mind

because I am out of sight?

I am waiting for you,

for an interval,

somewhere very near,

just around the corner.

All is well.

By Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)