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Death Is Nothing At All

What happens when something intensely and indisputably present is lost? What is left behind when there is an end? Death Is Nothing At All grapples with the clashing truths of presence and grief.

A dancer kneels before a tall standing mirror, her reflection meeting her, as the words “All is well” are projected across the backdrop behind her.

Death is nothing at all. I have only slipped away to 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 into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes 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 effect. Without the trace of a shadow on it.

Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same that it ever was. There is absolute unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?

I am but waiting for you. For an interval. Somewhere. Very near. Just around the corner.

All is well.

Henry Scott Holland

A page of handwritten notes circling grief, presence, and loss.
Two dancers in bright costumes reach toward each other across a dark stage, fingertips almost meeting.