Death Is Nothing At All

Henry Scott HollandWow. Just found this poem on a friend’s Facebook wall. Powerful and gentle at the same time.

I had a very dear and wonderful friend, after whom I named my daughter, who passed away when my daughter was just six months old. And my daughter’s middle name is from my maternal grandmother. Really, it’s a family name — it’s my mother’s middle name, too. My great grandmother started it all, though hers was slightly different.

Her name was Clara Pence (hmm…wonder what her middle name was… going to have to look that up when I get done here,) then her daughter, Clare Mae Pence Roper, then her daughter, Judi Clare Roper Burnett, and then my daughter, Samantha Clare Roberson.

One month after she was born, after I’d signed the birth certificate, I realized that I wanted her legal, full name to be Samantha Clare *Mae* Roberson. I was so disappointed I’d not thought of doing that a month before. It was one of those kick yourself in the butt moments. “Why didn’t I do that?! Ugh!”

One day I hope to pay for her to have it legally added, even though to me, she already is Sammie Clare Mae. Wonder how much legal name changes cost?

So I have that future expense on my bucket list for her and also cosmetic surgery for her poor, little broken ring finger — yes, on her left hand. Got it slammed in a door by the evil wind monster when she was five and had to have reconstructive surgery the next day. It’s fixed, but it’s a little messed up and she doesn’t like it.

I’m such a weirdo, I’d probably keep it as is. I loooove sympathy and I love to regale people with egotistical or self-deprecating or shocking tales of how I got my scars. A permanently smashed up finger? That’s a Sympathy And Fun, Center-Of-Attention Stories For Life card right there, baby! 😉

But anyway, back to the poem and death and Henry Scott Holland — as I was reading the poem this morning on Facebook, it actually felt like “Big Sammie” was saying those things to me. And then it felt like Grandma Roper was there, too, backing her up, saying, “Yes, yes, that’s true, Lisa – that’s right. It’s just like that.”

As I speak to the two of them all the time, it was a beautiful feeling.

Honestly, I really don’t even remember where all I had planned to go with this post, as I was writing it on my phone early this morning and haven’t come back to it until now, about 9 o’clock at night. I know I definitely wanted to share the poem, though, because I found it so affirming.

Death Is Nothing

It was written by Henry Scott Holland (27 January 1847 – 17 March 1918)– he was Regius Professor of Divinity at the University of Oxford.

Okay, so this post is rough and I haven’t paid it the attention I usually do before I publish, but I haven’t hit “Publish” in so long that I’m going to go ahead and do so. I’ll probably come back and fix it up later, but doggone it all, I really just want to hit “Publish!” 😉

Have a super groovy day/night! 🙂
Lisa Marie Mary

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