"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 in a myriad of things. From my flesh there will be grass, from my bones there will be trees. I will be there in the earth, in the sunshine, in the sea. Countless grains of me will tango with the snowflakes in the wind, mingling with your hair, caressing your skin. The butterfly that grazed your fingertip, that is where I will be. The deer that escaped from the corner of your vision, that too was me. 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 respond."
Hush. Do you hear the swooshing gentle waves? That is my murmur. And the whispering leaves as they sway? That is my calling back to you. My voice may be wordless and I may no longer speak your language, but the sound I make will resonate with the strumming of your heartstrings. Call my name and you will hear a myriad of songs, a chorus of responses, all of which is me saying to you,
"Hey, I was never gone."