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, some-
where very near, just round the corner. All is well.
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