Memories of Hope Lost

Yesterday I attended a funeral visitation. A young man, at the age of 20, committed suicide. I didn’t know him directly but I knew his parents through friends. A line begins to form outside the funeral home. It stretches down the stairs, meandering the length of the driveway and its end disappears deep into the darkness of this cold autumn night. There are parents who watched him grow with their children. There are friends that have epic memories of youthful escapades. One can hear laughter and cries echoing together in an emotionally charged chorus. As the doors open, the eerie refrain quiets into a solemn procession. Inside, filing past picture collages of joyful family memories I feel the juxtaposition of hopes and dreams now lost. What does one say to a brother, a mother, a father? Nothing said can make it better. Nothing offered will dull the cutting edge of grief. I offer a hug, a silent nod and an understanding that while I cannot relieve your suffering, I acknowledge your pain. Peace and Love