not for the person.
for the family.
I attended the funeral of my cousin on Friday. I debated about going. It really wouldn’t matter.
I had to drive 7 hours, get a hotel room for a day or two, do some schedule re-arranging.
Iron my good clothes.
But it did matter.
You go to hear the music. And see the cousins. And taste the salt in your tears. And eat a cold casserole prepared by a stranger to help heal your broken heart. And to say a prayer for your own children…..that this senseless act will never touch them or their lives.
The church was full.
Full of his daughter’s schoolmates and friends. Natalie is in 7th grade and carried herself with dignity and class.
Full of Lynda’s family and friends and co-workers who seem to be the kind of people who will stand behind her and hold her up as long as she needs it.
Full of Beiter kids. Mark had SEVEN brothers and sisters, who all have spouses and children.
And there was even a pew full of his high school classmates.
A lone man sang "Eagles Wings" and "Be Not Afraid" and some other songs that made me sob.
The minister said all the right things.
He didn’t dodge the "subject" either.
He had a smooth lovely voice, like chocolate.
He told us that we may feel guilty, but that Mark did this himself.
Our job is to be a friend and care for each other.
And, he said, IF YOU ARE THINKING OF SUICIDE, get help.
Don’t go through with it.
It is NOT in the plan.
He had to say it.
I don’t know if I’ll ever know the story.
But this funeral was hard to go to, hard to enter the building, and then it got immediately better.
I saw my cousins.
Kathy, then Kelly and John, the youngest.
Then I saw Nick’s head above all the others.
and Mary Fran…who took me to Gretchen.
And we just looked at each other and she gasped and sobbed on my shoulder.
And we went to the bathroom and Jamie was in there with her 2 month old baby.
And they thanked me for coming.
Of course I came.
Of course.
