I got there early, one of the first, because my son was serving at the altar and my daughter was singing with the cantor.
I sat in the back and prayed. Breathing deeply I took in the stained glass windows, the wood work, the altar piece. And I watched people come in. Old people who wore their grief like a garment. High schoolers fidgeting uncomfortably in dress clothes they scarcely ever wear. Friends embraced each other in the knowing without the telling. Then we sat in near silence. Just me and hundreds of other people. Sitting in the grief. Continue reading


