Heartbreaking, Pt. 2

Acidman is dead. You may not have encountered him, but he was one of the truly distinct individuals on the great wasteland that is the internet, a brutally candid guy with a lifetime of hard living and regret that he described with great wit and artistry.

William Jordan posted this lovely sermon in the comments, and I may steal it for my own funeral:

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.

Part of a sermon given by Henry Scott Holland, Canon of St. Paul's Cathedral in 1910

Perfect. See you there, Acidman.