Don't stand at my grave and weep...

I've recently been to two funerals in as many weeks and, frankly, I would prefer to not to go to any more in the near or distant future.

To make things just that much more heartbreaking, both funerals were for children of Red Cross volunteers. Adult children, but parents burying their children all the same. It's just plain not fair. Both of these volunteers are a wonder to behold. They are dedicated, loving, graceful men who choose to spend their well earned and well deserved spare time in retirement putting in long hours for your American Red Cross and the clients that we serve. It's an honor and a pleasure to watch them give so selflessly. It's painful and hopeless to standby and watch as they grieve and miss their son & their daughter. I feel so helpless, there's not one damn thing I can do to fix this for them.

As I listened to friends and family remember the dead tonight, and as I tried to focus all my love and attention on Jack (the volunteer & dad), my mind was, frustratingly, beginning to wander. The same thing happened two weeks ago as I stood in support of Jim at his son's funeral; my brain betrayed me and went wandering off...

I couldn't help but think of my parents and the funeral that we did not have for them.

We didn't invite friends, family, coworkers, neighbors and students to gather, to say kind things, to tell lovely stories, to laugh and to cry and to remember. We didn't publicly say that we loved them, that we would miss them, and that we would never forget the lessons they taught us or the quirky way they did this or that. No one prayed, no one spoke, no one put together a photo montage or a program with favorite sayings, songs and pictures.

We didn't let everyone say goodbye.

We didn't know that we could.

The circumstances surrounding our parents' deaths was so obscene, so wildly out-sized, so sudden and embarrassing and shocking. Nothing about it exactly made it clear that we could have still celebrated, could still have shared the pain and grief with others, that we didn't have to hide. I didn't know that this was permissible, and so we kept it to ourselves and didn't allow all those other people who loved them dearly to have their say. I regret that with my whole heart today. People must have desperately needed that moment, that public and painful moment to say goodbye. It would have been so reassuring to see all the lives they'd touched collectively loving them and, by extension, loving us.

We didn't let everyone say goodbye.

We didn't know that we could.
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