All is well

I found a small stack of photocopies in my mother's things. It seemed as if she had prepared them with some future eventuality in mind, but she never discussed it with me. Assuming that her intent was for those words to be shared with those who knew her throughout her life, I will also share it with you. It is attributed to Harry Scott Holland (1847-1918) Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral

Death is nothing at all.  I have only slipped away into the next room. I am I, and you are you. Whatever we were to each other, that we still are. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference in your tone, wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Pray, smile, think of me, pray of me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was, let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was; there is unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well.