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Mother-Child Stories
Farah invites and welcomes you to share your mother-child life story with her.
Farah looks forward to reading about your relationship; each of our journeys and stories is unique.
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To submit your story, please email Farah directly at Farah@FarahPress.com.
Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
by Mary Elizabeth Fryel
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 glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
(Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!)
I read this poem that offered me a new way of thinking about Mum and her demise. Our bodies may get consigned to earth but the soul, Mum’s spirit, I like to think, is right next to me guiding and shepherding me through pivotal moments in my life as I find myself.
Whenever I see a flock of birds or sunlight glinting off a pane of glass, or when on my birthday a huge saffron orange (the color associated with ascetics in India) truck drives up alongside me at a traffic light with my mother’s name painted across it, “Al Meher Construction,” I know Mum is right beside me and often say out loud, “Hi Mum!”