It catches in her throat.  Not just the burning scotch, but the memory.  Several, in fact.  They bludgeon each other for attention.  “Never say can’t!”—the perpetual belief her father lived and yet...his most difficult reality was coming to terms with what he couldn’t, by very slow degrees, continue to do.  Now here she was, so much younger by comparison, continuing not only to grieve but simultaneously to fight the conviction that she...just might...not...be able...to keep doing this.  The “this” was the fulfilling of her self-imposed demands to complete each detail of her work with excellence.  The kind of work that takes more than the hours allotted.  Insane expectations from all sides like spokes, like spears jettisoning into and out from her soul desire to be.

“Finish what you start,” her muse commanded.  “I can’t,” she didn’t say or whisper...but believed.  Damn the beliefs...like fish hooks in her heart or anchors holding her back.  Her father would have tried to encourage her to be better than that, to see farther than the horizon slapping up against the window; he would have understood, though.  He would have lamented with her...how difficult “never give up” really is.

Intimately the same...

Third memorial service in six weeks.  The three could not be more different in culture, age, and circumstance.  What they all have in common is how deeply the ones left here love the ones who have died.  The ones left here will never quite be the same.  The ones left here will feel the deep dark empty for a long time. The ones left here will be gratefully surprised by the outpouring of love from those who feel their loss with them.  The ones left here will be lost...will wander...will one day find the life in them to walk a new path with new hope and new life.

Amazing how vastly different but intimately the same we all are...

One memorial service was for a student who had only one semester left before graduating...he took his own life. Only child.  Son of a retired Detroit (Irish) police officer and Vietnamese mother. Service held at the Sailing Club Marina---soooo many kids and the stories at the mic went on and on and the afternoon was gorgeous, and the water was beautiful and his boat was up by the platform.

Second service was for a 16 year old hispanic girl who suddenly dropped from an aneurysm...so full of life and love...plans for the future...JROTC...her boyfriend is one of the nicest young gentlemen you will ever meet---he is my student.  The service was in a dominantly Hispanic Catholic church packed to the gills with people in the chapel close circuit tv (and this is not a small church), along the sides and in the narthex...packed full...lovely service.

Third service was for the husband of a good friend in his 60s who had cancer riddling his body, taking his life slowly the last year or more.  Held traditionally in the United Methodist Church---very intimate and formal with a minister who spoke well of him.  Lovely family, close community.  He was a collector and lover of classic cars and the parking lot was filled with them---they are so very beautiful and it was touching to see so many of his friends come and bring their classics in honor of him.