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Farah Press
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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.

To submit your story, please email Farah directly at

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!”

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