Good Grief.
Small thoughts for big feelings.
CW: Suicide and death.
My son and I drive the few blocks to the synagogue in pained silence. There are no words for driving to the funeral of a young man who took his own life. Too young. Too soon. I park on the street, knowing the parking lot will be full. Knowing hundreds of people will show up for this shattered family.
We exit the car, our hush continues — hands held tightly — as we make our way to the line of black clad mourners entering the temple. My son, 22, towers over me, but holding his hand, I am a young mother again, gripping my small blonde boy for safety. His. Mine.
So many familiar faces, now etched with age, most not seen for a decade, not since my son graduated from elementary school. Behind me, I see my husband and daughter arrive. They were schoolmates, this young man and my children. His mother worked at the school for decades, she is beloved.
We are a community again. Communing in mourning.
The sanctuary overflows, they bring in extra chairs, people are told to sit, the memorial is about to begin. My son sits next to me, my husband and daughter in the row behind us. A silent pall of grief ties friends and strangers together.
The rabbi accompanies the parents to their seats. The mother wails. I close my eyes to look…
