Dedicated to the memory of Jules

This site is a tribute to Jules, who was born in Leicester on August 05, 1948. She is much loved and will always be remembered.

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Death Is Nothing At All Henry Scott-HollandBy Henry Scott-Holland More Henry Scott-Holland 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, somewhere very near, just round the corner. All is well. Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again! Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/death-is-nothing-at-all-by-henry-scott-holland
Elizabeth
29th October 2020
Thank you for setting up this memorial to Jules. We hope that you find it a positive experience developing the site and that it becomes a place of comfort and inspiration for you to visit whenever you want or need to.
Sent by LOROS (Leicestershire & Rutland Hospice) on 29/10/2020
I am I and you are you, whatever we were to each other that we still are. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? Life means all that it ever meant, it is the same as it ever was.
Extract from a poem by Henry Scott Holland
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