Today is the 6th Anniversary of my mom’s transition.                                            It is a sacred day for me.                                                                                                          I consider it another birth-day.                                                                                            I use this as a day of reflection, exploration, and adventure,                          often doing things I rarely do, or something completely new.

Below is a poem I discovered recently, that I heard once before.                         It is an entirely new perspective on transition.                                                      This perspective resonates with me and gives me a sense of comfort,        that all is well and I need not anguish.

This morning I learned of the news that a dear friend of mine,                            a role model, Goddess upon Goddesses, had also crossed over.                             My mom’s name is Judy and my friend’s name is Judy.                                     This week I shared with my husband, wouldn’t it be fascinating if both the Judys decided to transition on the same day?

And they did.

This is a poem dedicated to Judy.                                                                                 Both women I adore, am forever grateful for, and hold close in my heart.

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that 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 an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.

All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

By Henry Scott-Holland