"And when you leave us," you ask me, "where will we go to find you?"
When I'm gone, I will come back to you as a myriad of things. Buds will bloom from my flesh, saplings will wake from my bones. I will be there beneath the dirt, above the sunshine, between the waves. Fragments of me will tango with the snowflakes in the wind. I will mingle with your hair and caress your skin. The butterfly that grazed your fingertip were my wings, the deer that escaped your sight walk with my footsteps. I will be at the edge of the sky and at the corners of the earth. Look, and you will find me here, there, and everywhere.
"But we call out to you," you say, "yet you do not answer."
Hush. Hear my murmur in the gentle waves at twilight. Listen to my lullaby in the midnight whispers of wind-swept leaves. My wordless voice will no longer speak your language, but the sounds I make will resonate with the strumming of your heartstrings. Call my name and you will hear a myriad of songs, a chorus of answers, all of which is me saying to you,
"Hey, I was never gone."