We Were There For Them

Yesterday my mom emailed me. A third cousin of mine, Scott, had lost his step-daughter in a tragic car accident last week and the visitation and funeral were last night. His mom, my 2nd cousin Glenda, told my mom thinking that Mark and I may want to go since we understand the pain of losing a child firsthand.

Now, I don't remember Scott at all. He's around 17 years older than me and was only a name to me and a picture on Glenda's wall as I grew up. So this was going to be a bit strange but all I could think of was, this is a hard time and if we could be of any comfort or provide any kind of support, we needed to go. Unlike us, his step-daughter was 33 and had a family of her own but it's still hard.

I immediately called Mark and told him that I thought we needed to go. That it was probably important for us to be there for them since we have experienced the pain of losing a child. I was pleasantly surprised that he didn't question or doubt my instincts and agreed with me. He called his mother and she agreed to look after the kids for us to go.

As we drove to the medium-sized town about an hour from our house where the funeral was being held, I had a small sense of uneasiness within me. What emotions would this evoke in me? Would I lose it during the service? Does this mean I'll have an awful dream about Andrew tonight? Will this stir up things I don't want to feel? How are they handling this? Will Scott even know who I am or how I am related? What will we find?

I wrote a personal note in the card we got at the last minute that said we know how words do not describe at this time but that we were there for them if they wanted. I gave them my contact info and signed it for the family.

We got to the funeral home and I found Glenda and we hugged. She introduced me to Scott. It was awkward but I tried to make some conversation and show I genuinely cared. I couldn't really read where he was at. He was quite stoic and looked almost fine with a touch of sad. I made sure to look him in the eye and with concern asked about his wife. How was she doing with all of this. I didn't know much about Scott and his wife and his family so I was really feeling around in the dark trying not to sound stupid.

To my question I actually read some emotion. I'm not saying he wasn't feeling them, he just seemed to be able to hide his emotions well.

"It's been hard," he said. I nodded in agreement. I understood. I knew too well. This is the third death for them. Two grandchildren and now their daughter. I shook my head. How awful.

"So it's hard," he said again.

I said something and felt so bad and yet still awkward.

Glenda added in how Mark and I understood. "They lost their son last year." She said.

"Yes," replied Scott as he looked back at us seeming to be uncomfortable now himself, "I remember."

I learned later that he had been married to his wife, Janelle, for 20 years. So then I felt stupid for not asking him how he was doing. I just felt so awkward and odd and self-conscious.

Glenda's son, Neil, was there with his wife and we were very glad to see each other. Neil is very special to me. He's in his fifties but I know him the best of Glenda's kids. I played my flute at his first wedding many years ago when I was in college. But the thing that really bonds us together is that he lost his son just a few weeks before we lost ours. Despite his fresh pain and grief, he insisted on coming to Andrew's funeral to support us. He knew the pain we were feeling and wanted to be there for us. It meant a lot to me that he showed up and he cried as he hugged me when he arrived at our church for the service.

As usual, Neil gave me a huge, long, intense hug and we exchanged real pleasantries. In other words, that it was good to see each other and we really told each other how we were actually doing. We instinctively knew that we were talking about dealing with the loss of our sons. It was good to connect and share in the moment. Neil is such a good man and I was so glad he was there.

The concerns I had before were still playing in my mind as we sat down for the service to begin. Scott down next to a woman and put his arm around her. Finally I knew who his wife was. She was definitely having a hard time as she put her head on Scott's shoulder.

The pastor began the service reading the obituary. I read along and found myself at the end before the pastor. One of the last lines read, "she joins her son . . . and her grandparents . . .". And I closed my eyes as I thought, "wow, she joins her son. I look forward to joining mine someday. But she's with hers." And a tear ran down my cheek. I pressed my lips together and thought about being with Andrew. How nice that would be to see him and be with him.

I handed the program to my husband in case he wanted to read it and look at the pastor while thinking, "she joins her son". I kept thinking about that off and on for the rest of the night.

The rest of the service turned out to be rather "uneventful" in a sense. It wasn't a beautiful service. It wasn't very touching except for the beginning as people shared about their memories of this woman named PJ. It was rather strange actually. Not just because I didn't know the deceased or hardly anyone, it was just a different kind of service than I have been to before since most of the attendees didn't seem to be very respectful of what they were there for. Many were chatting throughout the special music numbers, which included a hip hop song that I found to be rather strange myself but it's what they chose.

We enjoyed time with Glenda afterwards, I got another huge hug from Neil and we headed on our way. Although not what I expected, we still were there for them. That made us feel good. And we knew we did the right thing. We were there for them.