Parents shouldn’t bury their children.

A few days ago we received the soul rending news that our nephew-in-heart died in his sleep. Our dearest friends had lost their baby. His wife was now a widow. His three beautiful little ones were now fatherless. His sister and brother were now two not three. His sister-in-law, brother-in-law, nieces and nephews, parents-in-law, grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends, coworkers were all now bereft of his big smile, wonderful humor, and steadfast companionship. He was only 27. What 27 year old goes to bed and never wakes up? And then.....the funeral. There he lies. Still. Completely still. So young. So handsome. And so many people. Standing room only. A tribute to a young man who was just starting life. But look. Look. So many people. What a life of love he had already lived. See how many people he touched. What a community of love he built. So many stunned, crumpled faces. No one knows what to say. I’m sorry. I love you. What more is there than that to say? Screaming, raging, tearing of hair.....inappropriate but it’s visible on every face that if it was acceptable then it would be happening. The service begins. The pastor has known this young man since childhood and the relationship grew into friendship. He is giving a eulogy for his friend. Trying to comfort the young widow, the parents, family and friends when his own heart is crying. It’s beautiful. It’s terrible. It’s loving and tender. I’m watching my friends. He is so stoic. The good father being strong for his family. This pillar of strength and goodness with cracks on his face that say there isn’t much more he can endure today. I want to hug him until he cries, releases some of this pent up emotion, allows himself to grieve

but I don’t. He wouldn’t, couldn’t accept it. His need to be strong is all that is keeping him upright. She looks so numb. Her beautiful face, the face that hasn’t aged a day since we were in each other’s weddings, young brides, building our homes and families together, my sister-in-heart’s face is ravaged with pain. She is shaking. But she is holding the young widow with one arm and her daughter with the other. The wonderful mother protecting her children with her own body. After a moment both young women draw enough of her strength to be able to sit up again and they all hold hands. But then, without warning, she doubles over. Her cries are silent even as her body is racked with them. The pain is ripping her apart from the inside. It’s visible. Her daughter rubs her back, unsure what else to do. I cannot stand this. Etiquette be damned. I climb over people, go up the aisle, drop down in front of her and pull her into my arms. I rock her like a child and she cries. Her soul cries. It occurs to me that when women give birth we cry with pain and the grief of parting. But after that parting we bond with our child in a new, joyful way. She cries now in pain and the grief of parting. But there will be no new bonding process. And I know that while I’ve come to hold her, I’m no different than anyone else here; I’m just trying to ease my own, insignificant pain. None of us know how to ease this crushing pain or help them cope with the emptiness that now exists where their baby once lived. The casket is closed. His physical being is lost from sight forever. The pallbearers do their honorable job with grace. We process to the gravesite. And it’s time to leave. The family is reluctant. Of course. We linger quietly, talking softly, the tears flowing gently now. Finally the realization that there are men waiting to do a job, to cover the casket with the warm, brown earth, comes to the family. Hugs all around. We will meet at the house. And so we leave the gravesite. We do meet at the house. Food and drink await in the time honored manner. Clothes are changed for others that are both comfortable and comforting. Talk begins, stories are told, laughter joins the tears. Belief that we will all see him again abounds. This is horrible but God is good. Faith, real lived faith, not just from the pulpit faith, is shared. It’s time to go home. Hugs and love are exchanged. Faces are still ravaged, tears still remain visible, the aftermath known as living must yet be faced. Reflecting on the life of this young man and what is left behind there is the realization that he left a gift. This day, this wrenching, pain filled day had a not so hidden gift. He shared love. He brought people together in community. He reminded us that loving one another is everything. He was a firefighter and, to a person, his coworkers said they were never afraid to run into a fire when he was around. He had their back, he’d put his own life down to save theirs. Maybe that’s what this is about. He lived and died his faith by reminding us what we need to be doing.