The rain

reminded me of this:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,

I am the softly falling snow.

I am the gentle showers of rain,

I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,

I am in the graceful rush

Of beautiful birds in circling flight,

I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,

I am in a quiet room.

I am in the birds that sing,

I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave bereft

I am not there. 

I have not left. 

-Mary Elizabeth Frye

...to the scotch bottle!

ps: Got this off this reddit. It is quite something to be faced with your own mortality. I highly recommend reading the whole post.