Something to treasure. My favourite poem for that is:
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 glints on the snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.
"Throughout the years, this poem has appeared in many places and in many forms. The original was written in 1942 by Baltimorean Mary Frye on the back of a brown paper bag. Frye wrote the poem for a friend whose mother had died in Germany; the daughter had been unable to attend the funeral because of World War II."
What a beautiful and poignant poem!
My father is still alive, barely. I flew halfway across the country to spend a week with him.
I took this picture after having spent that night on a cot next to him. He had had a very rough night. Finally, he settled down into a peaceful sleep. I woke up as the sun began to rise. I got dressed, placed my camera on self-timer, and then placed it on a table across the room. This is the last photo that will ever be of me and dad together. His days are numbered. I am back home, and my thoughts are always focused on him. I do not know if he would have approved of this picture.
Photography is the medium I have always reached out to whenever I've needed to seek clarification on existential matters. Dad respected my dedication to the art and the craft of taking pictures. I succumbed to a mental tug-of-war as to whether it would be proper to post this picture. Ultimately, I realized everybody confronts the process of dying. I revisited Nicholas Nixon's and Richard Avedon's photos. Their work gave me the courage to do as I did.
I appreciate the kind words and sentiments my fellow photographers have expressed on this forum. Peace to all.
