We spent a good part of today at a funeral. Our close friend and his family lost their daughter and sister.
All day, I kept thinking of the injunction from my faith tradition's scripture, to mourn with those that mourn; but also of how we have such awkward language for thinking and talking about death. On a day like today, that scripture felt like, perhaps, the only adequate words, for the terrible loss, for the way the living go on in the face of it, for the longing afterward, and for what any of us could do to help.
When the service was over, and the interment, there was food waiting--the Mormons at the church house next to the cemetery had prepared it. People from every sector of the mourners came in, in bunches and pairs and threes. We sat with people we knew, and after awhile, our friend came over holding a plate of food. You could tell he felt he should talk to us and listen, but we told him to eat, we just wanted to sit with him. So he ate, and we sat with him. That's all, and for those few minutes it felt almost, briefly, all right.
Tonight, I am thinking of him and his family, and also of my dearest friend, who recently lost her son. These words, inadequate as they are, are for them.