I share a favorite poem that the minister read at my father's memorial service ... I hope it can bring some comfort to your heart, as it did for me: Do not stand By my grave, and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep— I am the thousand winds that blow I am the diamond glints in snow I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle, autumn rain. As you awake with morning’s hush, I am the swift, up-flinging rush Of quiet birds in circling flight, I am the day transcending night. Do not stand By my grave, and cry— I am not there, I did not die. — Clare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934