Let us bless them everyday

I don't usually believe in omens, but last week I saw something that made me reconsider. A mallard couple, trying to cross the street during morning rush hour, met a terrible fate. The female had been hit. She lay there like a crumpled piece of notebook paper. The drake paced back and forth along the curb, confused by her absence. One moment she was there, the next second she was gone.

Then, Fletcher died.

LegoGuy's friend had been diagnosed with a rare cancer in the 2nd grade. He'd fought the good fight for more than 4 years, and on Tuesday, he surrendered. We were all expecting it, of course, but nothing prepares you for the moment a person you care about leaves this world.

Many of the kids in his youth group planned to be at Fletcher's memorial service, so I arranged to go with LegoGuy. I was dreading it. I am not good at funerals. I doubt there's a normal person out there who likes going to funerals, but I mean it -- I am really not good at funerals. My empathy meter starts clicking the minute I walk into the church, and soon I'm sopping up those grief vibes like a crack whore looking for her next fix. One whimper and I tear up; a sob sends me into a crying jag.

I used to mourn from the perspective of the departed. No more sunsets! What a shame. She'll never get to have the beautiful wedding she always wanted. So, so sad. He won't get to see his son grow up. What a pity.

Once I had children, however, I watched the service from the eyes of the lost one's mother. The first time this happened to me, LegoGuy was about 2 years old. A young girl died unexpectedly while on vacation with her husband. They were newlyweds, and I'd known her since she was a little girl. The two had gotten separated while hiking. Not dressed for the quickly changing mountain weather, she'd died of exposure in a relatively short time. It was tragic.

But as I sat there in the church, I didn't mourn the loss of her life as much as I mourned that mother's loss of her child. I tried to muffle my sobs, but it was no use. A friend of mine clutched me to her as I let loose. It was embarrassing, but with so much grief in the room, I figured I would be forgiven.

I managed to hang onto my emotions during Fletcher's funeral. The ceremony was an even blend of sorrow and celebration. I shed a few quiet tears during the prayer and a special song. I choked when the pastor stated, "If the power of love could have kept this child alive, Fletcher would be among us right now." When the man next to me cried so hard he made the pew shudder, I held fast. I made it through the eulogy with my mascara still intact, as little old ladies grabbed for Kleenex, squares of white fluttering like doves released from their cages. It was during the reading of the poem that I dissolved.

And as I watched him go, my beautiful boy,

and a weary woman was I...

I swallow hard, reach out to my own beautiful boy.

Oh boy, my boy with the sunny brow,

and the lips of love and of song!

I cover my own brow with my shaking hands.

For I gaze in the fire, and I'm seeing there a child,

and he waves to me...

No longer even pretending to be composed, I keen.

If he called from the ends of the earth

I know that my heart would hear...

No tissues at hand, I get up from the pew and stumble out, unable to see. I can't take another verse of that poem. Have to get out of there. LegoGuy follows, finds a box, stuffs a handful of tissues into my palm.

The strains of Amazing Grace, played on bagpipes, follow us into the afternoon sun.