Thinking of my friend and her family today.
Last fall, my friend’s son passed away.
My friend and her family are Native American and the celebration of her son’s life would be held at the parish hall on the Oneida reservation about two hours from where I live. I debated going. I didn’t actually know her son, a grown man of many accomplishments. I just knew her. And, for a long time, I’ve been wary of funerals since so many friends have lost their adult children. You can be overwhelmed by the enormity of sorrow even if it is second-hand.
I decided I should go. Grieving people should look over their shoulders at their loved one’s funeral and see a sea of people, every seat full. I’ve thought that for a long time, even when I’ve convinced myself to not go to funerals where I thought I wouldn’t fit in. Going to a Native American celebration as a…
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