Gone Too Soon
by The most horrendous occurrence a parent can suffer is the death of their child. When that child was a friend of your child…how can you help the grieving parents and families, when the loss and grief are beyond our abilities to comprehend?
The hall of the dimly lit funeral home resembled the foyer of a grand manor. Ceilings were vaulted. Massive beveled, leaded glass windows reflected the glow of lantern sconces. A walnut roccocco style library table was home to an elegant floral centerpiece flanked by 2 cherub topped urns. An elderly gentleman stood militarily beside the table , he greeted us in a somber , hushed tone and led us to the visitation room. Muffled sobbing could be heard and I experienced a panic, apprehension and anxiety that I had never felt…not even when my father passed. My breathing shallowed, it’s not too late, maybe I could excuse myself. If I can just make it to the exit I could be in my car and drive…anywhere…it wouldn’t matter…I could be anywhere…but here. It’s too late, I see her Mom.
It seemed unreal, a nightmare that would eventually end when I woke up. I entered the room and saw neighbors and friends. Each came closer, hugged me and commented how terrible it must be for her Mom. Each confessed they didn’t know what to say. I felt the same sentiment. I glanced at her Mom surrounded by relatives in various stages of grief. Some still in shock, simply present, no more, no less. Others crying uncontrollably and verbalizing disbelief. A few fought back tears to be strong for the family and support her Mom emotionally but also steadying her when the grief continued to sap every measure of her already limited strength.
While waiting for an opportunity to speak with her Mom, I saw her . Eighteen years of age. Lying on a satin comforter in an ivory coffin, her favorite pillow beneath her head. She was dressed her powder blue gown, the one she wore to prom…a mere 6 months prior. Her hair still sun-kissed blonde, luxurient, a long tress caressing her cheek and following the line of her shoulder, resting in a gentle curl just beneath her elbow. I almost expected that at any minute she would open her eyes, and give me that mischievious smile, giggle and ask where’s “the princess of purses?”… Referring, of course, to my own barely 18 year old ,fashionista, who had enjoyed many a gigglefest and shopping spree with her friend since kindergarten. Tea parties on the front porch, baking cookies and making a flour cloud mess, chalking hopscotch templates on the sidewalk, Chuckie Cheese birthday parties, cuddling together on Dad’s recliner mesmerized by Disney Princess videos…It seemed like yesterday.
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